A Dance with the Damned
by Lady Maisry
Summary: Sequel to Scar Upon the Earth, MOTB-based. I'd suggest reading "Scar" first or this will make little sense.      When a pirate formerly employed as a Knight Captain sails to the end of the Sea of Fallen Stars, she finds her past catching up with her.
1. The Port of Thay

The shantyman sat atop the mainmast, straddling it firmly with her knees. There was a crow's nest, of course, but Dania preferred to perch there, her legs wrapped around the solid trunk of pine, feeling the movement of the sea. The sailors assembled below her, scurrying to their assigned lines. When all were in place, she cleared her throat and sang out in a clear, loud, alto.

_Whiskey is the life of man! Ever was since the world began!_

As the last note died out, the men began to haul on the lines in rhythm, calling back with their verse.

_Whiskey-o, Johnny-o, rise her up from down below!_

She looked down and responded with her line

_Whiskey whiskey whiskey-o_

And they responded, and the main sail rose.

_Up aloft this yard must go, rise her up from down below!_

The next two lines gave them a rest.

_I treat me crew in a decent way! Give 'em whiskey twice a day!_

And again they hauled on the yardlines, three times with the rhythm of the song.

_Whiskey-o, Johnny-o, rise her up from down below!_

_Whiskey whiskey whiskey-o,_

_Up aloft this yard must go, rise her up from down below!_

The verses went on, one about how whiskey gave her a broken nose and whiskey made her pawn her clothes, how she heard Captain Cully say he treats his crew in a decent way. Finally, she sang her favorite verse.

_A glass of whiskey all around, and a bottle full for the shantyman!_

The crew responded lustily as they hauled the mainsail all the way to the top, where Adahni could grab it and tied it up so there it would stay through wind and stormy weather. Within the hour, all the sails were aloft and billowing out in the warm breeze. Dania reluctantly climbed down from the mast, done with it until they brought down the sails upon reaching harbor. She swung down the rigging, hand over hand, until she hit the deck, awkwardly, with a thump. Her left leg didn't bend the right way anymore – she'd broken it badly around two years back and despite the attention paid it, it had never healed correctly. With the sails aloft, the _Dance of the Damned _gathered speed and slid swiftly across the calm surface of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

"I don't understand why you don't just call the shanties from the bottom of the mast," Keowan, the navigator, said grumpily as she approached him where he was standing at the stern, his hand on the wooden wheel, "I don't like you climbing up and down the rigging six or seven times a day."

"I'm lame, not made of glass," Dania replied, "Anyway, you may outrank me, but you certainly don't get to give me orders."

He nodded, but he glanced at her bad leg warily, as though afraid it might just fall right off.

"Where in the hells are we headed for again?" she asked.

"Bezantur," he replied, "The port of Thay. Cully says that the gossip back in Escalant was that Calumshan silk's prices are high there. We can turn it into a pretty profit."

"Everything's a profit when you're stealing it."

"A valid point as always, Dani," he said, his eyes on the horizon, "Cully's got a crew to pay. That includes us, in case you'd forgotten." Cully – Captain Mackrem Cullygan – commanded the _Dance of the Damned _with a very small iron fist. He was a Halfling from Leeves, a Neverwinter village, but if anything, his small stature only made him more imposing.

"We've never been in Bezantur," she said, "I'm sure there's many pretty young ladies there."

He nodded. When they had joined the crew of the Dance of the Damned some two years before, they had already been lovers. Knowing how awkward – and in their case dangerous – it would be should their relationship splinter while trapped together on a ship, they had at first made sure not to hold each other to any promises. They were free, Keowan had said. They would spend the night together when they chose to, but she'd better not come nagging him if his eye fell on some pretty young maid. Dania agreed, not liking the idea of marriage or anything resembling it at all. What Keowan had not bargained for was her taking full advantage of her freedom. When he'd caught her in her bunk with her breast in the mouth of a large-eyed Rashemi lad they'd taken on in Neth, he'd sulked for weeks. It had hurt Dania to have hurt him, and so they amended the agreement – ashore they were free. On board they were each others.

"I know," he said, looking out at the water and not at her.

"Do you miss me when you're in the arms of a doe-eyed doxy?" she asked, giggling.

"Always," he replied, "That's what keeps me coming back aboard. Were it not for the doe-eyed doxies, I'd forget entirely why I loved you in the first place."

"And you're not afraid I'll run off with some dashing knight?"

"Every time," he replied, "But then I remember all of the very good reasons you've had to murder me, and the many opportunities I've given you. The fact that I'm still alive bodes well for your feeling the same way about me."

She chuckled and waved him off, "I've got work to do. I'll be belowdecks. Send Davy if you see him, the rat population's expanding. I know he's finicky, but we all have to do our parts." As though summoned by her very soft speaking of his name, the black dog barreled up the steps to the helm and play-bowed, "There you are, you little bastard," she said, stroking his head, "The skipper's been feeding you again, hasn't he? You know it's still your job to catch rats, what you do with them once you've killed them is entirely up to you."

"I find it so amusing how you talk to that animal as though you think it can understand you," Keowan said.

"Please," Dania said, "He's your wolf's pup. If he's not smart enough to understand me, whose fault is that?"

"Lords above, you make no sense sometimes, woman," he chided, "If anything it's that black dog that knocked poor Karnwyr up that's responsible for the pup's incompetence. Now, belowdecks with you, before the captain sees us fraternizing while on duty."

She chuckled again, and went off down below decks, black pup at her heels.

* * *

><p>They dropped anchor in the Port of Bezantur two days hence. Umberlee had graced them with favorable seas, and the voyage passed without incident. As well as singing the shanties, Dania was the designated businesswoman once they were ashore. She discarded her cotton sailing clothes for the light armor the "sailors" preferred when on shore. In a pirate's line of work, one never knew when the next fight was coming, or when one might really appreciate a couple of inches of leather between ones skin and the blade of a knife. She talked her way into the shops of several tailors, one of whom seemed to be employing a large number of orphans to sew his fine gowns, until she found a buyer who seemed unaware that the goods he would be buying were actually stolen, and quoted her a price she could take back to the captain without him boxing her ears for the suggestion. She brought the merchant to meet with her while Captain Cullygan sat in the corner. She haggled him up to a price that made boarding that Calumshan schooner entirely worth it, and Cullygan nodded his approval. He sent some of his sailors to do the unloading, and tossed her a couple of coins for drink – which would be on top of her share of this haul .<p>

"Run along, Dania," he said, "Business is over for the day, for sure and certain. You'll be needed at the local watering hole."

She found the rest of the crew at an inn called the Randy Mermaid, which was exactly as skuzzy as its name suggested. She bought an ale and a bottle of whiskey, and went to sit at a table with Keowan. She lit a smoke and tipped her chair back, putting her boots on the rough-hewn table. They were muddy and salty from the filth down belowdecks. The bartender glared at her, and she smiled sweetly back, daring him to start something. She did what she would along coasts all across Faerun, and this rundown dump in Bezantur would be no different.

Keowan was deep in his cups beside her.

"You're thinking something," he said, "I know that look you get when you're scheming some outlandish scheme."

"I was thinking about home," she said, "And how long it has been since we left the Sword Coast. It seems a lifetime ago."

"What kind of a life did we have there?"

"A good mix, much like the one we have now," she said, "Don't get me wrong, love, I don't regret my decision. It's just that it's been such a long time. Don't you think they'll have stopped looking for us by now?" she asked, "I don't want to go back to _live… _just to, you know, check on the place. I've been having dreams lately…"

"While I'm sure they're convinced that you've died, do you think for a minute they've stopped looking for me?" Keowan said, "They'll hunt me to the ends of Faerun until they can put my headless corpse in a vault in the Tomb of the Betrayers."

She grunted her acknowledgement of his very valid point, and uncorked the whiskey. They had to sail far, very far, down the Sword Coast before they came to the first town where there were no wanted posters looking for the traitor Bishop. Though they had left the region years before, she doubted that the official line of Neverwinter was to stop looking for the man accused of betraying and killing the Captain of Crossroad Keep. She poured herself a glass and downed it, waiting for something to happen.

There was a house bard, a young man who looked as though he'd only ever studied music with the great classical musician and couldn't probably plunk out a lively reel if his life depended on it. He stood, clearing his throat, but he had no instrument. The Thayans did tend to favor their epics in recited, rather than sung, form.

"I come to tell you a tale!" the bard intoned. He had a lovely baritone, deep, and trained to boom out over crowds in a theater, not to assail the ears of drunken sailors at a dockside bar, "A tale of heroism. It's the tale of Adahni Farishta, the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep, who defeated the King of Shadows and saved all of Faerun!"

"Did she have big tits?" called a young longshoreman, seated with his fellows at a table in the corner. He was the type of man who was devastatingly handsome, but devastatingly aware of it, and thus knew he could say exactly what he thought and suffer few consequences.

Keowan smirked, and took another drink, his eyes falling on Dania's chest.

"Yes," the bard said, sighing, knowing that his audience wanted to hear more about that than anything else, "Our story takes place far, far from here, along the Sword Coast far to the west! There in the Sword Coast is a large and dangerous swamp known as the Mere of Dead Men where the salt water of the sea marches inward to conquer the dry land year by year. Adahni was a simple girl from a village along the Mere, called West Harbor. Like here, they celebrate the changing of the seasons with great festivals with lights and music and more beer than a man could drink in a lifetime! One night, on the eve of the Harvest Fair, demons attacked her village, led by a Githyanki mage, slaughtering innocents, tearing babes from their mother's bosoms and dashing their brains out against the rocks!"

"Did the demons have big tits?" the same longshoreman called.

"Well I imagine there were succubi among them, so yes, I suppose some of them did," the bard said peevishly, "But getting on… the demons came in search of a shard – a shard from a Silver Sword that was broken years before, when our heroine was but a babe in arms! The King of Shadows, that dastardly vestige of the Illefarn Empire long dead, had come to fight there. The sword was shattered when the King of Shadows struck down her mother, which sent the dark lord back into the world from which he came!"

"Did her mom have big tits?"

"Do you want to hear the story or not?" the bard finally shouted, thoroughly exasperated.

"All right, all right, no need to get your skivvies in a twist," the handsome longshoreman said, "Tell me about this Adahni Farishta."

"She was the fairest maiden in the village," the bard continued, "With long, raven, hair, and skin smooth and brown like polished wood, and eyes like glittering topaz. She went forth to the city of Neverwinter, far to the north, to seek refuge with her uncle. On her way, she encountered a dwarf about to be beaten by a group of drunken humans. With her silver tongue, she convinced them to lay off, and the dwarf, Khelgar Ironfist, joined her in her journey. "

"I don't want to hear this," Dania sighed, and lit another smoke.

"And why not?" Keowan asked, "What do you have to do with Adahni Farishta? You're the dread pirate Dania D'Shadizar! Scourge of the Sea of Fallen Stars!"

"Scourge indeed," she sighed, "I see it's taken two years, but the tale's followed me here. I suppose we could go farther south…"

"Nobody's looking for us, Dania," he said, "To them, it's just a story. Nobody's interested in us here."

"I don't want to hear this," she said again. _It stabs me in the gut every time someone says Khelgar's name. And eventually he's going to get into the parts about Casavir and I'm going to lose it. _She dared not say _that _out loud. She rose, and pushed her bottle of whiskey towards him, "Share this with the rest of the crew, compliments of their favorite shantyman. I'm going to go look at the market before it closes." She swallowed the rest of her ale and put the empty tankard back down on the table, "They gave me a room far down the hall from yours. Neither of us has to hear anything."

He nodded, "Aye, I know. I'll see you tomorrow."

She went out into the hot, dusty streets of Bezantur. Fine brocade tapestries hung from every stall, and every merchant seemed to be selling the same gaudy earrings made of metal springs twisted in a circle with brightly colored thread woven into them. They hawked their wares, blacksmiths and silversmiths and tailors. It was surprising how similar port towns all over Faerun were. She wandered through the tents for an hour or two.

"Miss! Miss! You! With the limp!"

The voice was loud and heavily accented. She turned to see that it belonged to a young woman wearing a simple red dress, chasing after her down the dusty road. She had dark hair, which Adahni could see right away was a wig. _Must have had the fever, _she thought, pitying her, for otherwise she was quite a pretty girl.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I don't mean to impose," she said, "I noticed the way you walk, and I wanted to know, is it from birth or injury? You aren't old enough to have the rheumatism."

"Injury," Dania replied, "Why?"

"I'm a healer," the girl said, "I've quite a talent with old wounds. Would you like me to see what I can do?"

"How much?" Dania asked.

"For you? Very cheap. I just need bragging rights. I'm only getting started out, you see, and if people see that I've healed you, they'll trust me."

"And why should I trust you?" Dania asked.

"I'm not going to cut you open or stick you with anything," the girl promised, "I'm just going to try some spells. I'm very good with permanent injuries. I promise!"

"And you can do it while I'm here?" she asked.

"Well I _could_," the healer replied, "But I wouldn't ask you to strip down in the middle of the street. I have a tent over there. It's just a normal tent. If I hurt you, everyone will hear you scream."

"That's not terribly comforting," Dania said. But, she had to admit, her knee did pain her something terrible every time a storm blew in. And while she was still of use in a fight, she could not run. She could climb up and down the rigging, but she couldn't dance. She missed dancing most of all, she thought ruefully. She'd asked healers from Luskan to Athkatla to take a look at it. Some had succeeded in relieving some of the stiffness, but none had been able to truly heal her, "All right. What's your name?"

"Tenisha," the healer replied.

"Are you a priest?" she asked, "I've had a lot of priests try to heal this leg, and spent a whole lot of gold for a whole lot of nothing."

"No," she replied, "I use arcane magic. I'm a mage."

"Huh!" Dania said, "Never heard of an arcane healer before."

"We do things different," Tenisha said, "We probe your body with our mind and the power of the Weave, and try to right whatever is wrong with it inside. A priest is only as strong as his connection to his god, but we arcane healers can do much more. It takes a special talent though, and only a few of us have it."

"Interesting," Dania said, "Never heard of it before."

"There are a few of us here in Thay," Tenisha said, "And some further north in Rasheman. Where are you from, Miss…"

"Dania," she said, "I'm from Kuldahar."

"You've come quite a long way, Dania!" Tenisha said, impressed, "You must be a sailor. That knee must pain you something terrible when the seas are rough. Let's just see what we can do with it."

Dania felt utterly ridiculous as Tenisha sat there, just starting at her in her small clothes. She was seated on a stool in a white tent in the back of the bazaar and felt quite self-conscious as the other woman looked over every imperfection on her body. "What's that scar?" she asked, pointing to the thorny white line between Dania's breasts where there once had resided a shard of the Silver Sword of Gith.

"That one healed just fine," she replied impatiently, "It was from when I was a child. So, how does this work?"

"You sit there, and I put my hands on your head, and try to right everything that's wrong with your body, so long as it's an injury and not something you were born with. I can't fix a cleft lip or fused toes. But I can put you right back where you were before you were hurt," Tenisha said.

"All right, go ahead," Dania said.

Tenisha put her hands on Dania's black hair, and closed her eyes. Dania felt a pulsing start and fill her body. She felt all of her familiar aches go away – the way her back cracked when she sat up too quickly, the pain in her right ankle from it bearing too much of her weight now that her left leg had gone all gimpy. And finally, the pain so subtle she had forgotten it that her left knee gave her. It was gone. She could feel the bones realigning, the tendons and ligaments righting themselves. Everything popped back into place just as it had been wrenched out of place so long before.

"How do you feel?" Tenisha asked, withdrawing her hands from Dania's head.

"Let me test it," Dania replied. She stood. She walked. She jumped. She danced a little jig. She turned a cartwheel. She began to laugh and hugged the healer tightly, inadvertently knocking her wig to the floor. Embarrassed, she looked away as the girl hurriedly scooped it up and righted it, though she saw a glimpse of a bald head and some strange tattoos on her scalp. _Hm, that's odd. Usually if you lose your hair to the fever it grows in like duck down, it doesn't make you bald as an old man. _But this fleeting concern was lost in the sea of ecstasy, feeling herself whole again. As an apology, she thrust a fistful of gold into the young woman's hands. "Good gods!" she exclaimed, "You are a wonder!"

"You're welcome, Adahni. It brings me great joy to relieve others of their pain," Tenisha said, evidently not sore about the wig incident, and "Tell others what I have done here."

"Of course," she said, "Of course I will!" She jumped and clicked her heels in the air, and ran off down the street back to the inn.

That night, she danced – _danced! _– with the handsome young longshoreman who had heckled the bard. After a few drinks, she took him to bed, pushing him down to have her way with him, her on top. After two years of her knee being unable to hold her weight, she was looking forward to this small pleasure.

Alas, before she had the opportunity, her door banged open, and in walked Keowan. She rolled off the dockworker hurriedly, wondering what the hells was going on. He'd never pulled this before.

"Get the hells out of here, boy," he growled, picking up the longshoreman's shirt from the floor and chucking it at him, "I want to talk to my wife."

"Wife?" the boy exclaimed, saw the murderous look on Keowan's face, and hightailed it out of there without bothering to grab his pants.

"Wife?" Dania repeated, incredulously, "Keowan, we had a deal."

"I don't care," he said. He stripped off his armor, tossed It in the corner, and crawled into bed with her. He was drunk as all the hells, his breath reeking of whiskey, and unsteady on his feet. He kissed her clumsily, and put his hand on her breast, "I'm fucking… I'm fucking sick of sharing you, Addie."

"Dani," she corrected, "Let's talk about this tomorrow. For right now, you've interrupted me while I was doing something I've been wanting to do for years, so you'll have to stand in for that poor boy. You probably took ten years off his life scaring him like that." She skillfully rolled him over, and straddled him.

"But your leg…" he protested.

"It's better. I'll tell you all about it tomorrow when you're sober."

"Good," he said, "I always liked it better this way…"

They hadn't made love in a bed for years, only in the narrow bunk they shared aboard the _Dance of the Damned _with only a thin curtain separating them from the rest of the crew. Here, on the straw mattress and woolen blankets, she appreciated his presence for the first time in a long time. Spent and sweaty, they fell down beside each other. Soon, Keowan was sleeping, and Adahni was close.

_She knew your name, _she thought suddenly, the thought shaking her awake. The scene when she had left the healer's stall played over in her head, and she distinctly remembered Tenisha addressing her as Adahni, not Dania. _Oh gods, she knows who I am. _

_Calm down, you're probably just misremembering. Or perhaps you slipped up and told her your name was Adahni by mistake. It's not a big deal. You're so far away from Neverwinter. Nobody would think to look for you here. They think you two years dead._

But still the nagging voice dogged at her as she let sleep overtake her.

_She knows who you are._


	2. A Wayward Typhoon

They never talked about it, but for the next three days the _Dance of the Damned _bunked down in the Port of Bezantur_, _and Dania and Keowan bunked down together in her room at the Randy Mermaid. Personally, Dania thought that it would probably last a few months, and then both of their eyes would start wandering again, but she took comfort in the company of the familiar.

On the third day, Captain Cullygan rounded up the crew. Two had deserted, but there were a couple of skinny fifteen year olds from the docks eager to sign on. They were siblings, one male and one female, but both were the same shape and the same level of filthy and Dania frankly couldn't tell which was which. They learned quickly what they were expected to do and when. They left port on the morning of the fourth day, Dania scrambling up the rigging faster and with less pain than she ever had.

The intelligence gathered in Bezantur all pointed to one place – the river trade routes of Rashemen. The first mate, a grizzled old dwarf aptly named Bull Stonefoot, didn't like the idea of taking the sea-faring _Dance of the Damned _up a river with a crew that had little experience in doing so. They consulted with Keowan, who said he could probably navigate a river without too much trouble, and Captain Cullygan made the call that whatever magical goods they could steal from a Rashemi witchboat would make whatever trouble they went to worth it. Stonefoot knew better than to cross Cullygan, and so went along with the plan.

Keowan, who had been invited to the meeting, relayed the plan to the rest of the crew. Dania was itching for a fight, having managed to avoid one their entire time on shore, and test her newly healed leg, and she had heard that the Rashemi employed fierce warriors on their ships.

The storm blew in when they had nearly reached the mouth of the river Lapendrar, which would, if the charts spoke true, take them through Thay and up into Lake Mulsantir in the Heart of Rashemen. Dania was alone on watch, walking the deck in an endless circle, lantern dangling from her hand. First the wind kicked up and the rain started. She thought nothing of it at first, but soon the seas grew rough and the ship lurched from side to side. She would have run to awaken the crew if half of them had not been knocked right out of bed. She'd been in storms before, of course, but something about this one felt different, unnatural somehow.

"Take the sails down!" the cry came from belowdecks. Captain Cullygan scrambled up above and shouted, "For fuck's sake get the sails down!"

Sailor scrambled to the lines and Adahni scrambled up to make sure it was disentangled. The foresails came down without incident, but the topsails would have to come down as well. By now, the rain was driving down in sheets. Sailors unlashed the yardlines, but something was tangled up at the top of the mast, and the sails were not coming down. She kicked off her boots to give her feet more traction and ran to the rigging to climb aloft and unlash the yard from the top of the mast. She was buffeted this way and that by the wind and the rolling of the ship, but managed to cling tight to the riggings. She was also able to get the topsails untangled, and the crew as able to lower them.

She did not, however, think to look out for the yard to come crashing down on her head as she tried to make her way back down. Nor did she bank on the ship rolling just at the right moment so as to throw her semi-conscious body clear of the ship and into the dark waters of the Sea of Fallen Stars.

Davy the black wolf-dog jumped right in after her, catching hold of the collar of her shirt and dragging her head up and out of the waves. She could hear the sailors shouting as though they were very far away indeed. Even the rushing of the water in her ears was distant. She summoned all her strength to make out the ship in the dark. Lightning flashed, and the image of the _Dance of the Damned _tossed this way and that in the waves told her that swimming to its side would be the more dangerous of her options.

The black shoreline lay to her north, within eyeshot even when the lightning was not making the sky bright as day. Davy had the same idea, and with her collar still in his teeth, swam for the mouth of the river and shore.

Many times in her life had the rush of energy that came with feeling certain death breathing down her neck had saved her life. This time was no different. She and the dog reached the shoreline before she realized how deep the cut on her head was and how much blood she must have lost, swimming hard against the stormy seas. Out of certain danger, she crawled away from the river, up onto a high sand dune. The world had started to go fuzzy around the edges, and she knew she could not maintain consciousness for long. The best she could hope for was to try to get away from where the tide would reach her once it rose. Far away, she heard Davy barking, trying to summon the crew that was clinging to its life aboard the schooner far off shore. There was nothing she could do for them, though. . Laying her head in the coarse sea grass, she lost consciousness entirely.

* * *

><p>"Well hello, Miss Farishta!" Lord Nasher said. She was standing in the foyer of one of the grand houses in Neverwinter. It looked like the Collector's mansion in the merchant district, but was decorated differently, "May I take your coat?"<p>

She complied, unpinning the broach which held her cloak around her neck. The bald lord of Neverwinter took it and hung it on a peg for her. She looked down at herself. She was wearing a fashionable gown of dark red velvet and, for some reason, a pair of boots she had owned when she was a child in West Harbor. She followed Lord Nasher into the sitting room of the house.

"Dinner is almost ready," he said, "You've arrived just in time."

Around the fire were sitting Ammon Jerro, Sir Nevalle, Retta Starling, and Marcus, the boy from Ember. They all smiled to see her. Sir Nevalle got up and handed her a goblet. She looked into it. The wine inside was thick as she swirled it around, and she did not take a drink.

"Did you hear about the porcupines?" Mrs. Starling asked, "I hear they are simply ravishing this time of year. And the violins grow on trees!"

"Yes, I have," she replied.

"Your boots are made of fish," Ammon Jerro said, smiling grandly.

"Monkeys. Ubiquitous monkeys," Sir Nevalle said.

"Umbrella tongue," replied Ammon Jerro.

"Dinner!" called Lord Nasher.

She took Sir Nevalle's arm, and he escorted her to a grand dining room that was entirely too large for the house where it stood. The lights set into the walls were not normal lamps, but the crystalline ghost lights she had seen at the Ruins of Arvahn when she had visited in search of the Statues of Purification two years before. She sat at the table, putting her goblet down in front of her. She could smell it now, and there was no mistaking the stench of blood that it gave off. The chairs were hard like stone, though they looked to be upholstered in fine velvet. In the center there was a large platter holding large slabs of meat.

"What is that?" she asked, taking a slice and biting into it. Blood ran down her chin as she chewed.

"It's you!" Marcus declared. He lifted the cover on one of the dishes, and she was looking into her own face, lying dead on a platter with an apple between her teeth.

_What the fuck… _she thought, and began to retch. The group seated around the table all began to laugh at her as she doubled over.

* * *

><p>She woke herself this way, vomiting what seemed like gallons of sea water mixed with whiskey and hardtack onto the ground. The ground, though, was not the soft sand of the mouth of the Lapendrar, but cold stones. When her stomach was empty, she looked around, but could see nothing, She squinted her eyes, and was able to summon the light of the aasimar. It hovered somewhere above her head, and she saw that she was underground, in a tunnel that had had bricks set into it. The patterns looked ancient.<p>

"Davy!" she called, "Davy! Where are you?"

The dog did not answer her. Davy never failed to answer her. If she called him and he didn't appear by her side, it meant that he had not followed her to this dark place.

Her body ached all over. The gash that the falling yard had left on the top of her head had not closed, but the bleeding had slowed. She did, though, have to pick crusts of dried blood out of her eyelashes in order to see clearly.

_Was it all a dream? _She thought, _Have I been dying slowly in a ruin underneath the Mere while my mind took me aboard the _Dance of the Damned_? Did Bishop just leave me to die there like he ought to have?_

She looked around. With the blurring blood out of her eyes, she could see the designs in the walls. No, they were not Illefarn designs. She looked down at herself, and she was wearing the cotton shirt with the buttons and the rough woven pants that all the sailors were. Her feet were bare from her journey up the rigging and down into the sea. She was dry, though, so it must have been some time since she'd come, or been brought, here indoors from the bank of the river.

"Shhh, stay still."

The voice came from behind her. She tried to turn, but her neck was terribly stiff, and she imagined that the falling yard had knocked something out of place there as well as in her head. She felt hands on her head, and felt a familiar pulsing sensation, accompanied by a soft, female voice murmuring some kind of spell. She felt her neckbones realign themselves, the aches go out of her head and body, and the great gash atop her head close.

"Who in the hells are you?" she asked, breaking away from the touch and turning to see someone vaguely familiar kneeling behind her. She was young, twenty-two or three perhaps, and bald as a child, with runes tattooed on her scalp in an intricate pattern. She was not dressed warmly enough for this chilly cavern, but seemed comfortable in her red robe. _Red robe. Oh good gods, _she thought, _that woman's a Red Wizard of Thay! I'm fucked._

"I could ask you the same thing," the red wizard said.

"My name is Dania," she said, "Dania D'Shadizar, I'm the shantyman aboard the _Dance of the Damned, _it's a trading vessel out of Luskan."

"Now now," the red wizard said, "We both know that that's not true. The _Dance of the Damned _is a pirate ship captained by a Neverese Halfling. And your name is not Dania, I can see the lie in your eyes."

She sighed. "All right. My name is Adahni Farishta. But I _am _the shantyman board the _Dance of the Damned."_

"So you are a pirate!" the red wizard exclaimed, clapping her hands together, "How delightful."

"Are you going to take me back?" Dania – Adahni; there was no point in keeping up the façade at this point – asked, "I can offer you gold to tell them I've perished. I'm quite a wealthy woman, despite my current appearance."

"I assure you I have no idea what you're talking about, Adahni, and I've no interest in whoever the hells it is you think I'd be turning you into – though if you really are a pirate, I imagine any number of coastal city states have an interest in hanging you," the red wizard said, "But I do not. I do have an interest in assisting you. Right now, I think the only thing to do is to get out of this place of dead things."

Adahni didn't move. It was almost a relief, being called by her real name and realizing that it had no meaning here, far from the Sword Coast.

"Why should I trust you?" she asked, "You haven't even told me your name."

"Safiya," the red wizard said, "My name is Safiya. Can you walk?"

Adahni rose, not feeling the familiar drag of her left leg. _Of course, _she thought, _the bald woman in Bezantur who healed my leg! _She looked closely at Safiya, and determined that it was not, in fact, the same person.

"Are all red wizards bald?" she asked, "With those runic tattoos?"

"Yes," Safiya said, "It's part of our rites."

"Do you know a woman named Tenisha?" she asked, "I think she's a Red Wizard too."

"Do you know a man named Fyldrin?" she asked, "I think he's a pirate too. We don't all know each other, you know."

"Oh please, I know that your little cabal comes from a set number of academies here in Thay. Anyway, since you know so much about me, evidently, you know that I'm not from anywhere even remotely near here and would not know any of the Thayan pirates. Haven't even crossed swords with a one yet."

"Rashemen," Safiya corrected her, "We're in Rashemen, not Thay. But you caught me. There is a chance I know a Tenisha. My mother is the mistress of an academy of Red Wizards in Thaymount. But, we may talk about these things later. This place is full of spirits. We must be gone from here. Where is your sword? Don't pirates carry swords?"

"Sword?" Adahni asked, "You try swimming for shore in the middle of a typhoon sometime and tell me if you'd like to be carrying several pounds of iron with you while you do it."

Safiya snorted derisively. "You're lucky we're in an Imaskar barrow. Many warriors have been buried here with their weapons. From what I have heard about you, I don't imagine you have many scruples about robbing graves."

"Many people have heard many things about me," Adahni said, "I doubt any of them are fully true."

"I see you fancy yourself an enigma," the red wizard said, "Very well, if that's how you'd like to be, I won't argue with you. Let's press on. The sooner we get above ground, the better."

Adahni sighed. Having no choice, she followed Safiya's retreating back into the darkness.


	3. Without Fail, When You Least Expect It

The storm raged through the night and until near noon the next day. The ship rolled and lurched, lines snapped loose from where they were lashed, and sailors were laid low with sore wounds or sickness. When the seas died down and the sky began to clear, the crew of the _Dance of the Damned _took stock of what they'd lost. Two men had gone overboard, one gnome blown clear over the bulwark, and the man that had gone in after him. The sails were, thank the gods, intact, but they'd lost several barrels of water and whiskey. Captain Cullygan ordered them into harbor – the port city of Escalant was not far. They had done better than expected in Bezantur. While hoping for a healthy profit, it looked as though most of it would be eaten by this storm.

Mackrem Cullygan had always been fond of the woman now known as Dania. He'd met her one evening at a bar in Luskan nearly ten years before, back when he had made an occupation raiding the villages of the Sword Coast. She'd saved his life that night. He'd come to her later, when she was the commander of a great keep in his homeland. She and the boy who would later be known as Keowan the Navigator helped him to avenge the slaughter of his home village, Leeves.

When he'd run into them the summer after the war with the King of Shadows had ended, the two of them had been on the lam and hiding out at some rat-infested inn in Baldur's Gate. They'd never explained to him why it was so critical that nobody find out their true identities, but he'd gathered from the gossip he heard on the wind that the boy had done something terribly foolish and turned on her. The official story out of Neverwinter was that Bishop had betrayed the Captain of Crossroad Keep, had opened the gate for the hordes of the King of Shadows' Army to pour in, but that the Captain had made it to the King's stronghold in the Mere and there perished, giving her own life to save the world. It was none of Cully's business how she had survived, or why she had chosen to forgive the rascal. He also had a healthy skepticism about the "official word" out of any nobleman, Lord Nasher or otherwise. For all he knew the whole thing was a lie and she'd never even been to the Mere of Dead Men. Perhaps, he thought, someone high up in Neverwinter had tried to have her killed, to create a martyr for the cause.

When they ran into each other, Cullygan knew very well that he owed a debt of honor to the girl, doubly so since she had helped him to take down the assassins that had burned his village. She refused to go anywhere without the boy, and so he took him on too. The fact that they had made loyal and steadfast crewmembers was just the icing on the cake.

_It really would be too bad if she'd drowned in the storm. Such an interesting girl, _he thought.

He found Keowan, straddling the bowsprit, chainsmoking and staring out over the water. The boy was into his twenties by now, but still often had the look of a motherless child, as he did now, staring dejectedly into the distance.

"Lad," Cullygan said. He didn't really feel any duty towards Keowan. He was a good navigator and, so far, a loyal crewmember, but he did feel some pity as he sat there, "We didn't find her body."

The navigator was silent.

"We found the other two men in the wreckage. But we didn't find her, and we didn't find the dog."

Keowan looked down, and then up again, exhaling a lungful of smoke.

"It means she might have made it to shore," the captain continued, "She's a strong swimmer and it was less than a mile."

Keowan took another drag off his smoke, and looked thoughtfully towards the shore. "I talked to the men on duty. They said the yard came down on her with all its force. She fell thirty feet to the water unconscious. I'd be a fool to hold out any kind of hope."

"Lad," Cullygan said, "After what she'd been through, do you think a bump on a head and a swim in the drink is going to kill her?"

Keowan nodded, and flicked the stub of his smoke into the water. "So we find her," Keowan said, "Tell me we find her."

Cullygan mused for a moment, "We'll need to stay in Escalant. Even without the storm, we'd have to fit the boat to travel upriver. Remember that dreadful journey from the Shining Sea up the Wash to the Sea of Fallen Stars in the first place?"

Keowan chuckled. He'd been a novice when that happened. He'd caught a sickness on the river and spent most of the journey belowdecks with a fever. He didn't remember much of it, only that the masts had been taken down and stowed, the crew had taken turns rowing.

"It's the closest town," he said, "If she's there, we'll find us. If we don't, I imagine she'll find us."

Keowan nodded, and scrambled back up onto the deck to do what he could for the ship, his spirits raised somewhat. Cullygan had a point. Addie – Dani – that girl with the black hair – did have an uncanny way of squeaking out of trouble. Before he'd met her, he never would have even tried. He'd have jumped ship in Escalant and found something else to do. Wander the wilds of Rashemen or something until something more interesting came along – death or something less permanent. He'd grown unused to that way of thinking some time ago. She'd kindled something like hope in his breast. Yes. Hope. That's what you would call it.

The first time he had lain eyes on her, he was almost eleven, still a boy with a slingshot in his pocket. Though only a few years his senior, she had seemed grown up to him. Less so, after Kyla had died. Kyla, who was both his mother and his sister, whom he both loved and hated, even more so after her death. Kyla brought comfort to everyone, to the boy who she'd gotten when her father forced himself on her, to the sailors that paid good gold for her company.

He was fourteen when one of her customers murdered her, and it was Adahni who had been there to hold him while he cried on that awful morning. She must have been twenty or so by then, and hardened herself, her voice husky with whiskey and smoke, her arms bony. She had given him over to her husband as an apprentice. Dayven Elhandrien, for whom the faithful black hound was named. He had lost his name, become known only as Bishop, the name of the man who was both his father and his grandfather. He had learned to kill without feeling. Those were formative years that he had been an apprentice of the Circle of Blades. When most boys were practicing peacetime trades, learning to shoe a horse or assemble a barrel, he was being instructed to slit the throats of prisoners, and to look them in the eye when he did it. At a time when most boys were having their first kisses, he was murdering his first prostitute. It was a mere three years, but they were important years, and he would never have them back.

He was seventeen when he'd betrayed them. Dayven had sent him on a mission, to murder the whore that had lain with the ambassador's husband. He'd done so, climbing through a window in the brothel, only to find the john dead on the floor, and the whore sore wounded in the bed. He'd thought her dead, and woken her.

He recognized her almost immediately when she opened one eye – the other had been blackened and swollen shut.

"He killed Kyla," were the only words she said. And he understood what she had done. Adahni had also loved Kyla. She had avenged her, and been wounded near to death in the process. He'd tugged her to her feet and told her to run. And then, at the door of a room in a brothel, he had taken his first real kiss while he was supposed to be murdering a prostitute. Stealing a kiss from his master's wife not a week before he was plotting to murder him too.

When he lay dying later that week, in the burning remnants of his home village, when his dreams grew feverish as he bled from numerous wounds, it was Adahni, not Kyla, who came to comfort him in those dreams. And, as it would happen, it was Adahni's uncle who would wander by and find him.

He didn't quite know if he believed in fate or predestination or any of that, but if the past had taught him one thing, it was that Adahni would always show up. Without fail, and when he least expected it. He would continue on the journey, if only because it was the only thing he knew how to do, and just keep hoping that their paths would cross once again.


	4. A Nameless Hunger

Though the barrow was quite dark, Adahni could tell that they were walking up hill. Ever the scholar, she paused several times to examine the runes along the wall. Safiya tugged her away from them several times, warning her that she would wake the spirits up. Adahni was not impressed by this, and continued to examine them. They looked oddly familiar, though they were not Common or Elvish, or any of their linguistic ancestors. Despite the strange feeling of recognition she got when she looked at them, she could not make heads or tails of their meaning.

Along the way, Safiya raided the vaults on either side of the wall. There she found a serviceable leather jerkin and breeches that fit if Adahni left the buttons undone. The ancient Imaskar, apparently, were quite a bit smaller than Addie. The cotton shirt she wore under the jerkin covered up that her fly was open, and she supposed that things could be worse. They journeyed uphill for about an hour by Addie's count, until Safiya paused a moment and disappeared around a corner that Adahni didn't even see. She returned bearing a rapier, ancient, but still glowing with some kind of ancient enchantment. Adahni took it from her and examined it.

"This isn't as old as the barrow," she said, drawing on the seemingly endless store of random and often useless knowledge that she had gleaned from doing naught but reading as a child, "This is a newer weapon, less than a hundred years old. The enchantment seems to be against spirits."

"That's likely a good thing," the red wizard replied, "This place is replete with them."

"Is it?" Adahni asked. She felt something turn inside her, and unfamiliar ache, a hunger, and she was not entirely sure for what.

"Yes, I can hear them," Safiya said, "All the souls that were buried here, forgotten long ago…"

"Somehow I don't think that's what you're talking about," Adahni said, "Ghosts I can deal with. Ghosts have kept me company on some lonely nights."

"No, it's not," Safiya admitted, "The land in Rashemen is full of spirits. Here, we are at a thin place in the walls between the planes, and they walk freely among us."

"Ah, yes," Adahni said, looking forward to where it looked as though the walls of the cavern had detached themselves, molded themselves into a vaguely hominid form, and were moving towards them at an alarming rate, "Earth elementals."

Safiya turned, "You are correct," she said. She let loose a glowing spurt of magic which flew through the air and wound itself around the elementals' legs, binding them where they stood. Adahni had the opportunity to put her new blade to the test, and she did so. Though the elementals appeared to be of solid rock, they were nothing but the remaining essence of a spirit long dead, animating piles of dirt and stone. The enchantment on her blade disrupted the cohesiveness of this spirit, and trapped, they could do nothing as she rent them stone from stone until they collapsed into piles on the ground.

"You've some skill with a blade," Safiya said, smiling a bit.

"Pirate," Adahni replied, by way of explanation, "You suppose there are more of these where these two funloving scamps came from?"

"I can guarantee it."

"Oh goody, this is going to be a long night. Day. Something."

"It's daytime," Safiya said.

"Helpful, down here," Adahni replied sarcastically, setting off up the tunnel. She felt a gust of cold air on her face, and was hopeful that perhaps the surface was near, "Where are you taking me, once we get out of this place?"

"Mulsantir," Safiya said, "It's a port city. There, we will speak with Lienna. She'll know what to do."

"Who is Lienna?" asked Adahni, "Another red wizard?"

"No," Safiya replied, "At least, I don't think so. She's a friend of my mother's."

"No red wizard but a friend of red wizards," Adahni said, "I suppose that should be comforting?"

"Have I given you a reason to fear me, Adahni Farishta?" Safiya asked.

"If I were only suspicious of those that had given me a reason to be, I'd have died on a sword a long, long time ago," she said, "And call me Addie."

"Very well, Addie," Safiya said.

"Well," Adahni sighed, "We're stuck together, for the time being at least. Tell me about the port of Mulsantir. Do many boats dock there?"

"A few," Safiya said, "A few seafaring vessels make the trip up the Lapendrar river, though Thay, to tried along the lakefront. It's a dangerous trek, though, more than a few have attempted and not made it."

"How long a journey is it?"

"Depends on the weather, Safiya replied. They had come a long way by now, and the air grew sweeter as they went. Adahni dared to let the hope kindle in her breast, "I've heard of it taking a month or more."

"A month or more," Adahni sighed, "And a navigator that doesn't quite know what he's doing…"

"What are you talking about?"

"My ship, the _Dance of the Damned,_" she said, "We had intended on plying our trade in Lake Mulsantir. There was a storm off of Escalant, that's how I wound up…"

"Here?" Safiya asked, "That must have been some storm."

"No," she said, "I was knocked overboard, I swam for shore, I passed out somewhere at the mouth of the Lapendrar and… here I am. I don't know what happened between the storm and now, and I sure as hells have no idea how I wound up in here, or who's been digging about in my chest." She opened her jerkin and let Safiya see where the raw knife wounds zigzagged between her breast and up to her collar bones.

"Odd," Safiya said, "It looks like they were looking for something."

"Oh, I know what they were looking for," Adahni said, "I don't have it any more. I got rid of it, ages ago. So you can tell this Lienna that when you find her. Me, I'll be looking for passage down river."

"You can't!" Safiya exclaimed, "You can't just _go _like that."

"Look," Adahni said, "Whoever was looking for me, was looking for something I no longer have, something I left halfway across Faerun and for very good reason. I'm not who they think I am, not any more. Now I don't know if you're lying to me, or if you actually are as clueless as they come, but whatever game your little friends are playing, I'm not interested."

Safiya paused, and sighed, "Very well, Adahni Farishta. Let's concentrate on getting out of this barrow, and then I can try to negotiate with you to speak with Lienna, before you return to your pirating ways."

They seemed to be walking in circles now, every so often stumbling onto a barrow, which Adahni unceremoniously looted. She found a serviceable bag to carry things in, always useful for a long journey, and only had to fight off a few spirits. Telthors, Safiya called them, though Adahni was not entirely sure of the significance of that name. Eventually they found themselves in a large chamber, well populated by these telthors – wolves, badgers, and other woodland creatures in ghostly silhouette. These spirits seemed placid, they did not attack. One did, however, speak, which startled Adahni something awful. She had not been in a position to have to speak to an animal who answered back in a very, very long time.

"Red wizard!" it growled, in the voice that one would imagine a wolf would speak in, "I smelled you a mile off. You woke us from our slumber. And who is this one you have with you? A stranger in this land."

At this point, Adahni's stomach chose to growl loudly, and the rather embarrassing noise echoed around the cavern.

"Yes, a stranger indeed," she said, "We're trying to find a way out. Let us pass and you'll hear no more from us. Well, from me, anyway. I certainly have no interest in coming back here in this life or the next."

"You came from the Cave of Runes," the wolf spirit said, "We were told there was a seeping poison there, a mouth which swallows memories and names. Anything that emerges from the cave must be sent back there, living or dead. Our god commands it."

"Your god," sighed Adahni, "Of course, someone's god always has to be involved."

"Okku commands it."

_Okku. _That name struck a bell. A bear god of Rashemi invention. Adahni herself had never seen or spoken to a god, and was hoping to put off that eventuality until she was well into her nineties and ready for her end. But this was Rashemen, where gods and spirits walked the surface of Faerun. Indeed, perhaps it was unavoidable. Her stomach turned again, lurching as though it were throwing itself against her ribcage. She felt hungry. _Of course you're hungry, foolish girl, you didn't eat except for dinner before the storm, and lords know how long you've been out before you woke up in this godsforsaken place. _She wanted bread, large quantities of it, spread with the soft cheese of the sort that Neverese shepherds were known for making. _You don't even like that cheese, Addie, what is wrong with you? _She thought on it longer, all of a sudden unable to keep her mind on anything but the raging of her empty insides.

What Adahni saw then was a black hole open in front of her, and the hole was a mouth, and the mouth swallowed the wolf whole, and then the smaller wolves, and the badgers, and the foxes, until the cavern was empty. She felt herself standing there in a daze, unsure of what was going on, but watching the disembodied mouth suck out the essences of all the spirits in the room. Oddly enough, she felt satiated as ghostly form after ghostly form disappeared into the hole. Having eaten all that was edible in the room, the hold snapped shut, and the force of it sent her sprawling on her back.

What Safiya saw was the pirate girl jumping on the spirit wolf, wrestling him to the ground, biting a hole in his neck and sucking the very lifeblood out of him, and then move on to the other creatures who were standing there too terrified to do anything about it. Then, full to the brim, she stopped, looked at Safiya without seeing her, and collapsed on the floor as the bodies of the spirits she had eaten faded into nothingness around her.

* * *

><p>She was in Luskan, sweeping the floor at the Cuckoo's Nest bar where she used to work. She was wearing one of Kyla's dresses, with a black rose pinned at her bosom, the symbol that marked her as a prostitute, available for the evening's pleasure if the price was right. The floor was covered in a layer of fine dust that she could not get off no matter how hard she scraped with the willow broom. She swept furiously, trying to get the floorboards clean, but try as she might, the floor just got dirtier and dirtier and dirtier.<p>

"Have an ale," commanded Casavir. He was standing in the corner, playing chess with himself on a board the hovered in the air before him. He handed her a blue piglet, which squealed in her arms.

"That's not an ale," she protested.

"Have a piglet," he said, and handed her a tankard full of ale. She put the piglet on the ground and it began rushing around, eating up the piles of dust that she had made.

She got a terrible feeling in her gut then. She wasn't supposed to be with Casavir. Casavir was dead. He'd died in her arms. If she were with Casavir, it meant she was dead too. Or dreaming.

_Or dreaming. _She sighed in relief, and looked about. The bar room in her dreams was populated with people she knew. Of course they were people she knew, it was _her _dream, she wouldn't be able to people it with faces she had never seen. She walked around the room, examining them. Yes, there was Pitney Lannon from West Harbor. Lysinda and Jothka, two of the whores she used to work with. And there was Fray Trovo, and Luskan archer that had served under her at Crossroad Keep. Yes, all familiar. It was a dream. This was not the next life. _Thank the gods._

But then she saw someone that she had never seen before. A very odd looking man with a bluish cast to his skin was standing in the corner. Unlike everyone else in the room, he was watching her, a bemused expression on his face. His hair, which fell below his shoulders, had a bluish tint as well, and the eyes that watched her were nearly purple. _I certainly would have remembered seeing him, _she thought to herself. She walked towards him, intending to have a word and inquire what particular part of her subconscious he represented. She wouldn't put it past herself to conjure a handsome stranger, though why he was blue, she was not sure. When he saw her approaching him, he turned and left the bar room. She left too, intending to following him to the streets of Luskan that no doubt her mind would have laid out outside of the Cuckoo's Nest. Instead, there was nothingness, only empty space. Before her rose the same black hole she had seen as she had devoured the spirits, only this time it was facing her. It opened, wider, and wider, and all of a sudden, snapped shut.

* * *

><p>She awoke, gasping, in a cold sweat.<p>

"Adahni!" Safiya cried, "Are you all right?"

She shook her head and looked around, no longer in Luskan, but back in the barrow. She looked up, and belched loudly.

"Did I… Was that me?" she asked.

"You… erm… you ate the spirits."

"I what?"

"You went systematically around the room, broke their necks, and sucked something out of them. You ate them," Safiya said.

"Now you're making absolutely no sense," Adahni said, "You're saying I'm the one with the big disembodied mouth?"

"If what the wolf said before you so unceremoniously dispatched of him is true, then Okku sleeps above here. We should run into him on the way out, and perhaps he will know what it is that just happened."

"This is just getting ridiculous," Adahni grumbled. She still sort of wanted that soft cheese on bread, but now that her hunger pangs had quieted she was having a better time putting it out of her mind. Onward and upward they went, hoping that the bear god might say something useful.


	5. Out of the Barrow

Her stomach was still growling as they explored the winding passages that, hopefully, would eventually lead to the surface. She was aware of the red wizard, walking a good ten feet ahead of her, muttering to herself. There was a time when Adahni would have tried to hear what she was saying, but at this point, she could think of nothing but getting to the surface, breathing air that had not been infected by dead things for the past hundred years, and finding her way back to the Dance of the Damned. She felt her lover's absence more strongly than she did when she was ashore, and deep in the back of her mind, she worried wildly that something had happened, that the storm had sent the ship to the bottom of the sea, or that they would give up on Rashemen, and leave the area entirely, leaving her behind.

She felt another gust of cold air on her face, and looked up, and around. The ceiling was still stone, but she could barely make out the outline of tree roots. She sighed her relief, knowing that the surface was not far off.

The corridor opened onto a larger cavern. She started at the sight of what lay within, and her light flickered for a moment. This room was also filled with spirit creatures, though these were larger, and of many colors. At their center was a bear, larger than any Adahni had ever seen in her travels. He was not translucent like the other creatures, but shimmering and many colored, as though his fur was shot through with a rainbow. This might have looked ridiculous on a less threatening creature, but there was nothing silly about this bear.

"What stirs the air and smells so foul?" the bear rumbled, "Go back... die in the silence and dark. I am tired and ill of temper."

"You must be Okku," she said, "I see you're just as pleasant as I had always imagined. Look, I don't know what you're after or up to, but I see no reason this encounter needs to be any more unpleasant than it already is."

The bear god looked to his left and his right, and stretched out luxuriously, yawning a yawn that exposed the black hole of his throat. "I smell who you are," he said, "I _smell _the hunger that wakes in you."

"You will not have her," Safiya said. Adahni narrowed her eyes at the red wizard, wondering what her angle was. She had appeared, and was helping her, had in all likelihood saved her life. If there was one thing Adahni had learned in her twenty-seven years, it was that everyone had an agenda. She could not for the life of her imagine what Safiya's was.

"What do you care, Thayan?" Okku demanded, turning his attention to the wizard, "I know your kind. You love your own lives above all else."

"You don't know _me,_" Safiya corrected, "But I do know your kind. I know that your present form despite all of its color is but a shadow of your true self."

"No offense, Safiya," Adahni said, "But it's quite a shadow."

The great bear god ignored her, preferring to spar with the red wizard. "And I smell a storm within you, Thayan," he said.

"Now what in the hells does that even mean?" Adahni asked, thoroughly annoyed with all the crypticness.

The bear rumbled in – was it laughter? Whatever it was it shook his whole body, and made his coat shimmer in the half light, "You would be surprised, the secrets she has hid from you," he said.

"Well no shit, I met her less than six hours ago," Adahni said, "If I knew everything about her, that would be a little creepy."

"Enough!" the bear god shouted, evidently irritated by the bard's flippancy, "By my oath, you shall not pass this place."

"Oh… balls," Adahni swore, unsheathing her sword, "Why can't the lot of you listen to reason for a change?"

Her appeal to the better nature of the bear god fell on deaf ears, and she found herself fending off hordes of Telthor, bears and badgers and wolves. She was fatigued by now, and while the mysterious hunger she had felt momentarily was satiated, she still felt as though she were very empty indeed. She drew on a strength she kept in reserve, something she rarely did now that the demands of piracy were dwarfed by that of an adventurer. She closed her eyes, felt the blood of red dragons, running through her veins, and breathed a great wall of flames before her. Clearly alarmed, the bear god started back, the fire singing the many colors of his coat. It bought her a hot moment to figure out what tack to take next. Safiya was slinging spells like a champion, but that only meant that Adahni was having to take the worst of the blows.

_We put the hood around his head_

_Then we beat the bastard dead_

_With a knick knack paddy whack give a dog a bone_

_Send those stupid bastards home_

Fortunately, Safiya was not alarmed by Adahni bursting into song, timing her blows along with the rhythm of it. The song brought her sustenance and courage. Given her line of work, she knew precious few war songs – songs that were good to sing while one was in the heat of battle. She had sung this one, for the second time, long ago, when she had her companions were battling their way into the orc camps of the Sword Mountains. The time before that, she had sung it while she and two other prostitute had surrounded a john who'd taken a knife to the face of one of their sisters. They'd put a bag over his head and shoved him to the cold cobblestones, kicking and stomping on him before leaving him bleeding there, the bag still on his head. He'd lived, and he'd never touched a woman again. Seeming like you were enjoying the violence was a good way to keep people afraid of you, she had found in her experience. She was not sure that the tricks that worked on orcs and the seedy lowlifes of the Luskan docks would work on an immortal of Rashemen, but it was worth a try.

_I killed one, I killed two_

_I killed three and that's more than you_

She continued. The bear did not seem intimidated, but a little confused as she dipped and wove and beat telthors out of the way with her sword and fist. She cut down most of the spirit entourage, with a little help from Safiya, and finally got through to Okku himself. She raised her sword, ready to cut his head off and be done right then and there, when he began to grow a little fuzzy at the edges. She brought her blade down, but it did no damage, seeming to go through him like a ghost. He continue to fade out around the edges, until she could barely make out an outline of him.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," his voice rumbled, seeming to come from the walls of the cavern itself.

"With all due respect, Okku," Adahni shouted to the emptiness, "Neither do you!"

Safiya looked at Adahni sideways, not a little intimidated by what she had seen her newfound companion do, and all the while with a grin on her face. Okku did not know what he had gotten himself into, and Safiya was not sure she did either.

"We should probably not waste any time here," Safiya said, "I can't imagine that we've seen the last of him."

"I see," Adahni said, grimly. She went to the other end of the cavern, which Okku had been blocking, and poked around, smelling fresh, cold air. She found an exit, and took it, and within minutes was outside under the night sky. She breathed deep, feeling her insides relax. She had no idea that they had been so twisted.

_I once lay dying underground like that, _she thought, _I guess it hasn't rolled off me so easily._

"You are more at ease," Safiya observed, "You don't like being underground."

"I don't," Adahni conceded, "I once spent two days buried alive. It was not a pleasant experience and it's not one I care to repeat anytime soon… well any time at all, really. My companions had... died, one of them in my arms. And I sat there for what seemed like an eternity, cradling his corpse and waiting for death to take me."

"How did you survive?" Safiya asked, her eyes wide at the tale.

"I was rescued," Adahni said, thinking, for the thousandth time that day, on the man who had rescued her, "Another one of my companions, one I thought lost, he found me and dug me out. He set my leg…" she looked down at the leg that no longer pained her, "And…"

"And where is he now?" Safiya asked.

"I don't know," Adahni said, her voice betraying more sadness than she had intended, "I am anxious to get back to my ship."

"I see. So he, too, is a pirate?"

"Yes," Adahni said, looking glumly down the road. She could see, not too far away, a city within a stone wall. There was no smell of the sea, but she heard the lapping of water and knew that they must be on a great lake.

"You are an odd creature," Safiya said, as they reached the gate to the city of Mulsantir "Like a pigeon with the talons of a hawk."

Adahni looked at her in alarm. Ammon Jerro had once used that very odd analogy to describe her, years before.

"I didn't mean it as an insult," Safiya said, slipping in a small door cut out to allow single people through while keeping out horses and, hopefully, bear gods. Adahni followed her.

"I didn't say you did," Adahni replied, "Someone else has said that to me."

"Odd," Safiya said, "I was thinking as the words left my mouth what a strange thing to say it was."

"Indeed," Adahni said, "Forgive me if I ask to sleep out the night, and seek out Lienna in the morning?"

"I was thinking the same thing," the red wizard said. She had paused, and fished something black and voluminous out of her pack. She doffed her red robes, exposing a shift beneath, and replaced them with a long, black, cowled thing that hid all but her eyes, "The citizens of Rashemen do not suffer the presence of my kind within their walls. It is best if I am disguised."

"Very well," Adahni said.

"There's an inn by the water," Safiya said, "We may take our rest there tonight."

Adahni nodded, and the two of them made their way to the docks, where a large building bore the name _The Sloop. _There, they found a room for the night, a bowl of stew, and entertainment in the form of a ragtag troupe of actors rehearsing on a ramshackle stage that took up most of the room. Adahni found them rather amusing, shouting at each other, arguing about the meaning of various passages. She watched them and drank her ale, until she realized what story it was that they were rehearsing. Yes, there was one, a woman with black hair that was clearly a wig, another with red hair and fake horns strapped to her head, a robust dwarf who was wearing quite an obvious cap intended to make him look bald, and a rather handsome, cleanshaven human with armor bearing the insignia of Tyr. When the director came out to give them notes, he was dressed in robes and had fake elf ears stuck to his real human ones.

"What in the fuck…" she muttered, looking down at her ale.

"Now let's take it from the top!" the director said, "Our hero, Adahni Farishta, is going off into the hills to slay orcs with her faithful companions Khelgar and Neeshka. There, she meets the paladin Casavir. Yes, I know they fall in love later, but you can't give that away now, it wouldn't make sense!"

Adahni quickly downed her ale, and got up to go back to her room and to bed, but Safiya grabbed her wrist.

"Is this why you went by a fake name?" she asked.

"The bards were singing my story in Thay," Adahni said, "So yes, I imagined in might have come upriver on the wind or something. Wouldn't have imagined it being the stuff of plays."

Safiya shrugged, "They like plays in Rashemen. While the rest of us are satisfied with bards singing or telling the tales, the Rashemi like to see it put on, a spectacle. I have to say, that woman looks nothing like you."

She glanced at the woman, a doe-eyed creature who was clearly blond under the dark wig, and nodded her agreement.

"So is it true?" Safiya asked.

"Is what true?" Adahni asked.

"This?"

"Sort of," Adahni sighed, and flagged down the waitress to order another ale, "I did have companions named Khelgar and Neeshka."

"Where are they now?" Safiya asked.

"Khelgar fell," Adahni said, her eyes on the table, "When I told you about being buried alive earlier… Khelgar fell as I was trying to escape. He gave his life so that the rest of us would have the opportunity to run."

"And Neeshka?"

"She lives yet," Adahni said, smiling, "She married an old friend of mine from my home village, and as far as I know, the two of them have the lordship of my old lands, Crossroad Keep."

"Interesting," Safiya said, "I did not know that the Neverese looked so kindly on fiendlings."

"She is an extraordinary fiendling," Adahni said, smiling at the memory of her friend, glad that at least one of them had something like a happy ending.

"And did you fall in love with a man named… what did they call him?"

"Casavir," Adahni said. The waitress had brought her another ale, and she drank deeply. It still pained her to say his name, "And I did."

"But he was not the man who rescued you," Safiya said.

"No," Adahni replied, "You asked if I fell in love with Casavir, and I did, for a fleeting moment. He married another woman, and I realized after awhile that I had loved an idea, and not a man."

"But…" Safiya pointed to the stage, where the actor portraying Casavir had taken the actress portraying Adahni and was kissing her in an elaborately staged kiss, dipping her backwards until her face was almost upside down.

"I don't know how they're explaining it, but I assure you it was a good deal more complicated than they are making it out to be," Adahni said, "He did, yes, I suppose he did love me after awhile. But I knew that, by that time, he was also in love with an idea of me, not with me."

Safiya nodded, though Adahni doubted very highly that she understood.


	6. A Land Without Color

Adahni slept a thankfully dreamless sleep for the first time in what seemed like ages. If she had not been exhausted, she supposed she probably would have kept herself awake, racking her brains to figure out how on earth she had made it from the mouth of the Lapendrar River in Thay to the shores of Lake Mulsantir in Rashemen. She had absolutely no sense of how much time had passed since she had passed out on the river bank and when she had woken up in the barrow. She acknowledged that it was possible that she had been out long enough for a journey by foot, though that would have taken a month or more… then again there were powerful sedatives out there in the world, and if whoever brought her there were truly invested, she could have easily been kept asleep that long. _Bishop must be worried out of his mind, _she thought, _He'd better be worried out of this mind… _with this thought on the brain, she drifted off.

She woke up, feeling rested but groggy. She numbly went about the tasks of getting herself some acceptable clothing and armor. She traded a few trinkets she had found in the tomb for gold, which bought her a passable set of leathers. They were tighter and softer than what she was used to, and she realized that this was because they were intended to be worn under clothes rather than over them. Over the leathers she put on a blouse and long skirt like the rest of the Rashemi women, not wanting to draw attention to her, any more than Safiya did. Safiya stayed hidden in their room at the inn until Adahni had returned with a set of clothes like her own, a kerchief to cover her baldness, and a pot of paints.

"What are those for?"Safiya asked, looking suspiciously at the wooden box as Adahni opened it, added water from the basin, and began to blend.

"To cover your tattoos," Adahni replied, "I couldn't find a wigmaker on our budget, so it's going to be pretty clear pretty quickly that you're bald. If I can cover these tattoos we might be able to pass you off as ill, or perhaps as a nun of some order."

"How do you know this will work?" Safiya asked, skeptically, as Adahni began to paint over the runic tattoos in a color that was close enough to the wizard's natural skin tone. The paints were surprisingly effective, much better than the ones she had used in Luskan."

"I've done it before," Adahni said, "I am actually quite an expert at painting women's faces to disguise… imperfections."

"Where did you learn that? As a warrior? A Knight Captain of Neverwinter?"

Adahni was silent a moment, and then realized that her past before her time as the Shardbearer was no longer the most dangerous secret from her past, "Actually," she said, "For about five years, I was a whore on the Luskan docks. Johns would rough us up, we'd have to work the next night, and so we all learned the best way to cover the bruises and scars." She smoothed the paint job she'd done. She was clever enough to add a few darker patches – under the cheekbones, beside the nose, to mimic the natural variations in skin color. If you didn't do it properly, a girl would look like she was wearing a mask. "There, you look almost passable, just sort of like someone might have punched you in the face yesterday."

"Where is Luskan?" Safiya asked, peering at herself in a handmirror. With the kerchief covering her scalp and the paint covering her tattoos she looked like any average woman walking the streets of Mulsantir.

"Several days north of Neverwinter," Adahni replied, surprised that of all the questions her story must have begged, that was the one that she asked.

"Is that why you learned how to fight?" she asked then, "Because you were sick of men beating you up?"

"You could say that," Adahni sighed, remembering all the times she had mixed paints and covered a black eye on one of her sisters. And then remembered how she had two of the bolder ones would go 'take care' of the man who'd done it. Provided, of course, he was not anybody important. Nobles did pretty much whatever they wanted with the pretty young women who plied their trade on the docks.

"I had a man try to force himself on me once," Safiya said.

"How did that work out for him?" Adahni asked.

"I lit him on fire," she replied.

"Good woman," Adahni said, "Now, you said we had to go to… the Veil? That's the name of it right?"

Safiya nodded. As they left the inn, the troupe of actors were rehearsing again. This time, the actress playing Adahni was wearing a flowing blue gown instead of costume armor and was in the midst of being seduced by a man she could only imagine was supposed to be Bishop. The actor, she had to admit, look quite a bit like him, only more handsome, with a chiseled jaw that was not entirely covered up by the five o'clock shadow. He was burying his head in her collarbone, and she was leaning back, about to swoon, with the back of her hand to her forehead.

"And who was _that?_" Safiya asked as they left.

Adahni laughed, "That was… that was the man who rescued me eventually. I imagine they're probably casting him as the villain."

"He's not the villain? He looked like a villain. A handsome villain, but a villain," Safiya said. They strolled leisurely up the steps the cut into the cliffs separating the town from the water.

"He is a handsome villain," she chuckled ruefully, "But he came around at the end. And now…"

"He was with you on your ship," Safiya said, "Does it grieve you greatly to be away from him?"

"You ask too many questions," Adahni said.

"I'm sorry for that, I just… you are so very different than I am. I only seek to understand the woman I travel with," she said.

"Yes," she said, "It does grieve me."

"So you must love him very much."

"You could call it that," Adahni said, and quickly changed the subject. She was not introspective about her feelings, not any longer. She was happy with Bishop, he treated her well, and the two of them had been thrown together by fate so many times she knew it would be absolutely useless to try and get away with him. Not that she would want to. She could not imagine another human being that, if they lived _and _worked _and _slept together, she would not want to murder half the time. If that wasn't love, then she didn't know what was, "There, I see the Veil, let's go."

They pushed open the double doors that lead to a circular building. The sign on the outside announced it as the Veil Theatre, and the finest troupe of actors in the land. The inside was very dark, but as Adahni's eyes adjusted to it, she saw that they were not alone. She was very grateful for the leathers under her blouse as a creature, as tall as a man and a half, bore down on her with a long and nasty looking halberd. Safiya pushed him back with spell, and Adahni ran him through with her blade. She examined the corpse, and quickly identified it.

"That's a gnoll," she said, "I've never seen one of those in person before."

"I hate to be a downer," Safiya said, "But you're about to see a lot more of them."

Adahni rolled to her feet in a fluid motion and put her blade through the kneecap of another creature. It howled with pain and fell to the ground. She cut its throat rather than hear it scream any longer, and moved to the next. Safiya had the lot of them pinned to the ground with some kind of sinister magic, making Adahni's job quite easy indeed.

When the gnolls were dispatched, Adahni felt the familiar burn of magic missiles hitting her. She looked up to see a small host of red wizards, standing on the rounded lip of the stage, using their superior position to their full advantage. The trick with spellcasters, Adahni had learned, was to hit them. Hard. Once you got actually skin to skin contact, they were sunk. The trick was getting past whatever shields they put up. But, if their concentration was elsewhere – on weaving very complicated offensive spells, for example, one could slip through. If red wizards were somehow hardier than normal ones, Adahni would have to find out.

She barreled into the first one, using her small stature and solid build to her advantage. The willowy man was knocked clean off his feet and cracked his head on the stage with a crack. Like most spellcasters, he didn't bother to put on a damn helmet which might have rendered to blow less than fatal.

Safiya dispatched the rest of them, evidently having had more training or talent in whatever school of magic the both of them were using.

As the smoke rose off the freshly slain bodies, a tentative motion came from beneath the stage. A dwarven woman with her dark hair piled high on top of her head stepped gingerly up from what must have been the orchestra pit. She looked around the room, taking in the overturned seats, the smoke crackling off of the dead red wizards, gnoll blood staining the hardwood floors. At first, she seemed to take it all in stride, but in a second, she gasped, and fell into a swoon. As though from nowhere, two men – one human and one dwarf – appeared to catch her. She recovered herself after a moment or two.

"Do you know where Lienna is?" Safiya asked, "We were told to look for her here…"

The dwarf woman opened one eye, clearly seeing if her dramatic fainting had impressed the newcomers, and then the other. She stood up, brushed herself off, and examined her guests with critical black eyes. "And you arrived not a moment too soon!" the dwarf woman intoned. Her voice was powerful, clearly developed from years of dramatic training, "My name's Magda, by the way, director of this troupe. Lienna took off into the back. Here!" She fished in her voluminous skirts for a moment and took out a smooth, flat, black stone. She handed it to Adahni, who would have thought it was glass for its glossy surface, but its weight told her otherwise, "She keeps a shadow room in the back of the theater, sort of a safe place, if you know what I mean…"

"A shadow room?" Adahni asked, cocking her head to the side, trying to remember the things she'd read about Rashemen.

"Yes," Magda said, "As you may know, stranger, the veil between the worlds is very thin in this part of the world. There is a Mulsantir-below-Mulsantir, a shadow of the city that you can travel to it sometimes, if you have the right equipment. That stone you're holding is the right equipment." She paused, mused for a moment, "Lienna and that red lady with the shaved head and all the tattoos… they used to go back there sometimes. If you take this stone to Lienna's room in the back behind the costume master's racks, you'll see a portal. Step through it in to Shadow Mulsantir, and I do so hope you will find Lienna."

They took off through the dusty back of the theater, leaping over crates and boxes, until they found Lienna's room. Bed, bookshelves, nothing out of the ordinary… except for the black and pulsating portal in the corner of the room. It was blacker than black, as though it were a hole from which no light escaped.

"Do you see it, Addie?" Safiya asked. Adahni nodded.

"Take my arm," she said. Safiya did, and her eyes widened as she, too, saw what Addie had seen. Arm in arm, the two women ventured forth, stepping into the portal.

It was as though she had stepped through a mirror. Everything in the room where they found themselves was the precise opposite of the room in which they had been. And, to make matters worse, the world had suddenly been leached of all its color. Adahni felt as though she were suddenly in a pencil drawing of the world, and found it hard to make out the outlines of things. She ran her hands along several of the items of furniture, trying to forge some sort of connection between the images she was seeing at the reality of what it was.

"The shadow realm is shadowy indeed," Safiya observed, "I prefer things in colors. Though, I suppose, it would be easy to hide in the place like this."

"Let's hope Lienna is having some luck with that," Adahni sighed, "And that our friends out in the theatre haven't followed her in here as well."

"Look, there's another door," Safiya said, finding one that was the opposite end of the room. She seized the handle and thrusting it open.

The room beyond was very much unlike the room that lay beyond the bedroom in real Mulsantir. The next room was covered in streaks of black. Adahni realized only after several minutes that if they had been in their own plane, the streaks would have been dark red, for their smell and consistency indicated blood. In the center of the room stood a table, a rickety thing, not much different than the one that Adahni and her father Daeghun had eaten off of when she was growing up. But this table had irons affixed to its four corners, and bloodstains deep into the wood. She touched it gingerly.

_You've been here before, Addie, _she thought. Conscious or barely conscious, but certainly she had. She fingered the wounds between her breasts, in the place left empty by her own self mutilation years before. Someone had been digging in her chest, looking for the shard. They had found nothing. Is that why they had discarded her in the barrow? She closed her eyes, trying to reach back into her memory, a trick she'd learned from being blackout drunk nightly for several years.

_Where is it? Is she not the shardbearer?_

_She is indeed, but look, it seems she has divested herself of her burden before we had a chance to do it for her._

_So we just opened up her chest for nothing._

_Well sew it back up then, we should still be able to complete the rest of it._

_I'm sorry, so sorry, but we have to do this. _The voice was now addressing her. _For love…_

"I've been here before," she announced, not taking her eyes off the table. She tried to recall faces. She could see only demonic contortions of human faces in her mind's eye, but she knew not whether that was actually what her erstwhile captors had looked like, or if her mind, remembering the pain they had inflicted upon her, had assigned them those features.

Safiya looked at her uneasily, "We should move on. We can figure out this mystery when we've located Lienna and made sure she was safe. Red wizards do have a knack for walking among the planes, and if it were red wizards that were after her, we might have reason to worry."

"Very well," Adahni agreed reluctantly, and the two of them moved forward, deeper into the shadow plane. She picked up a few odds and ends as they moved through. Someone had left a rather nice set of throwing knifes, which she confiscated, and clipped to her belt with the ring the pouch came on. Such careless people to leave things lying around where anyone might just happen by!

They emerged onstage in the shadow theater. Adahni chuckled involuntarily, thinking how any bard would be proud to perform in front of such an audience that would fill a theatre of that size, but the smile dropped from her face when she realized that yes, their foes had also chased Lienna through the portal and into shadow.

There was but one red wizard this time, but he had managed to summon a few infernal companions. Erinyes, two of them, flanked him. Adahni thought something vaguely sexist about men and their penchant for summoning buxom female demons to fight their battles for them.

"Tsk tsk," the red wizard clucked. Adahni strained her eyes to adjust to the dim light and lack of color, but could only observe that he was male, tall, and as bald as Safiya, and with the similar runic tattooes covering his forehead and shiny pate, "Safiya, my dear, we are such a long way from home aren't we! I nearly didn't recognize you in that ridiculous getup. And where did your tattoos go?"

"Hmmm, I thought I smelled incompetence," Safiya snarled, ignoring his question, "Now that, Adahni, is Khai Khmun. If you have ever felt unimpressed by the Red Wizards of Thay, it's probably because this worthless blast from a mouse's ass was allowed into our order."

"Old lover, eh?" Adahni commented, observing the wizard's vitriol towards this Khai Khmun.

"Not in his wildest dreams," Safiya said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, you wound me, oh Daughter of Nefris!" Khai said, putting his hands to his heart in mock offense, "Do you not remember the sweet love we shared under your mother's desk?"

Safiya called him a very rude word indeed, one that even Adahni , who had always been crude, and now swore like a sailor quite literally, for she was one, flinched at hearing.

"You always were jealous of my relationships with professors. Araman rewards his allies… and I've done his bidding well. Her death means my promotion," Khai said, smugly.

Adahni looked for the first time at his feet. There lay a skeleton, almost entirely eaten by flame. _No wonder it smelled like roast pork in here, _she thought.

"Is that…"

"Didn't even have the nerve to fight us," Khai said, "Enveloped herself in flame as soon as we reached her. So ironic that I would find Nefris's daughter here, I'm sure she will put up much less of a fight than Nefris herself!"

"You stay away from my mother!" Safiya roared. The magic crackled off of her fingertips and soared through the air, striking one of the Erinyes dead where she stood.

"And stop misusing the word 'ironic'!" Addie added, "It doesn't mean what you think it means!" In her fury over his butchery of the Common language, she took a knife from her pouch and winged it at the other Erinyes. It struck her through one eye, and apparently when far enough back into brain matter that the demon convulsed and collapsed, if not dead, very close.

Undeterred, Khai just laughed, "I doubt you'll have the old hag's good sense and surrender. This is going to be fun! And you, bitch with the yellow eyes, I was going to leave you out of this. But I see that once Safiya is dead in a pile of ashes, I will have to turn my considerable talents to you."

"Oh good Gods," Adahni scowled as the two wizards put their hands up and began weaving spells. She let them go for a couple of rounds, walloping each other with acid, ice, and some arcane essence or another, before she lost patience, charged up to Khai, and took her blade to the back of his neck, exposing his spine, and sending him to the floor, dead, "You people try my patience!" she shouted, kicking his body. Safiya's spell fizzled at her fingertips, and she brushed its remnants off her hands.

"Interrupting a wizard's duel is the height of bad manners," she said.

She had kept her temper around the red wizard for most of their time together, as much out of fear of their legendary powers as out of respect for the help the girl had given her. Now that they were back in civilization, however, Safiya was beginning to grate on her. She let it loose, managing to keep her language clean, but raising her voice ever so slightly. "Any bad manners I have displayed are utterly dwarfed by you dragging me along on this ridiculous quest when I should be getting back to my ship!" Adahni retorted, "And did you miss something? Would you rather I had sat idly by while he had reduced you to ash and you were still busy fiddling with your spells? I don't question your power in battle, Safiya, but please, think of strategy! This isn't a wizard's duel, this is life and death, and there are no arcane healers to bring you back from the brink of it!"

Both women were silent a long moment. Safiya's dark eyes shooting imaginary daggers at Adahni's topaz ones.

"Point taken, Adahni," Safiya said finally, though she sighed huffily, "Let's go on about our business, no sense in criticizing each others battle skills while we both stand here in one piece. Khai mentioned the name Araman. He is a professor at the academy, like my mother… I do hope that he was bluffing about that."

"Whether he is or not we'll have to find out in due time," Adahni sighed.

"What troubles me," Safiya said, putting her head in her hand pensively, "Is that Lienna is not connected with the Academy. There must be some other association with her that they were interested in… and it was important enough for her to protect that she killed herself in a way that destroyed her body."

"Indeed," Adahni said, "I hear burning alive is not a pleasant way to go. Whatever her secret was, she must have been extremely devoted to keeping it." The two women sat there, each lost in her own thoughts, for a long moment.

"We should get back," Safiya finally said, "The smell is getting to me."

"Agreed," Adahni said. Safiya walked back across the stage, and Adahni followed her, "I am getting too old for this."

"Please, not that excuse," Safiya said, "You can't be much more than thirty, thirty-two."

"I'm twenty-seven!" Adahni protested.

Safiya laughed, "That's what happens to women who fish for compliments!"

They passed again through the horrid room with the bloodied table on it, and Adahni tried to avert her eyes.

"I wasn't fishing for compliments," she muttered, "I just feel tired. More tired than I used to after a whole day of fighting, not just a couple of hours. It's like all I want to do is nap right now."

"Really," Safiya said, "Because it sure seemed back at the barrow that all you wanted to do was devour spirits."

"Whatever that is, we can't figure it out while we're here in a land without color. Let's get out of here," Adahni said, pausing before the shadow portal, "We can't possibly get into any more trouble today."


	7. Earthbound

The blast of color to her eyes, even in the rather drab auditorium of the Veil, shocked her as she stepped through the portal and back into reality. The two of them hurried to the front, feeling that it was quite urgent to tell Magda what it was they had found. Adahni secretly hoped that it might evoke another overdramatic reaction from the dwarf. The first one had been highly amusing , to her mind.

She was concerned to find the auditorium empty, the dwarf woman nowhere to be found. Someone had cleaned up the gnoll and red wizard bodies, stacking them near the doorway for removal.

"Maybe the troop's gone off to hire someone to clean this mess up," Safiya said.

The two of them went through the theater door and out into the light and heat of the Mulsantir bazaar. Instead of Magda, they found a trio of women standing on the steps leading to the Veil, evidently waiting for something. It became abundantly clear after a moment or two, that it was Addie and Safiya that they were waiting for.

"I don't like masks," Adahni said. It was true, they reminded her of the Shadow Priests she had fought, back when she was defending Neverwinter. She had a sudden and very clear memory of being in the snow outside of Crossroad Keep. She'd taken the mask off of a shadow priest and found that it was a young girl, no older than fourteen, that she'd slain.

_That's Delinia Harkins! _A voice in her memory exclaimed. Whose was it? Casavir's mother. What was her name?

The first of the masked women cleared her throat, clearly waiting for Adahni's attention. She looked down at her. Her mask covered most of her face, leaving her hair as her only outstanding feature. It was outstanding indeed, a pure, snowy white that stood out against her tanned skin.

"She must be of high status indeed," Safiya whispered in her ear, "Look at how intricate her mask is!"

"So it's you that has caused so much trouble in my city," the leader of the masked women intoned. She walked up the to draw closer. She looked at the women, taking in Adahni's skirts and blouse – and the dagger in her hand that was dripping blood in a crimson puddle on the steps. She then turned her attention to Safiya. To Adahni's relief, the paint covering her tattoos had held up, and she looked only like a peasant woman with a scarf covering her head. In the light of day, she actually looked quite pretty. Adahni felt some satisfaction with her work at this, she always liked making things prettier. "Such a little thing to have stirred up so much!"

Adahni looked up at the masked woman, trying to discern features.

"My name is Sheva Whitefeather of the Wychlaren, the hathrans of Rashemen. Nothing occurs in our land without our hands in it, so you shouldn't bother to tell me to mind my own business. Now, you have managed to cause quite a stir here, child."

"Please explain," Adahni said, carefully polite.

"Whether you are aware of it or not," Sheva said, "There is a host of spirits outside the gates of this city, lead by Okku, the Bear God. He is currently calling for the blood of one Adahni Farishta. As there have been no reports of strangers in this city for weeks, until today when the proprietor of the Sloop talked about a black-haired woman with a Neverese accent drinking herself into a stupor last night, I imagine that it must be you, and your… associate. He demands that we turn you over. Now, Adahni Farishta, can you give us a reason you shouldn't?"

Adahni thought for a long moment, trying to discern what it was these witches respected. Power? Knowledge? Ruthlessness? Everything she had learned about Rashemen from books was that it was a cold land, full of cold people, people whose respect it was difficult to earn. _I am the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep, _she thought, _For a time I was the most feared woman between Waterdeep and Kuldahar. _She drew herself to her full height – which she was fully aware was not terribly high at all – and put on a mask of her own, making her features stony and imperious, pitching her voice high and piercying. "Because if you do, and if I survive, which I very well might," Adahni replied, "I could easily burn this city to the ground."

To her surprise, the witch threw back her head and laughed, loud peals of laughter. "Well, my dear," she said, "You do have quite a fire in you. It sounds like you intend to fight Okku."

"It sounds like I don't have much of a choice," Adahni said, "I defeated him once, in his barrow below the ground, and I intend to defeat him again. After that and the half dozen red wizards I just slew, I doubt a spirit army is going to faze me much."

"Half dozen red wizards?" one of the other two witches asked. She was younger than Sheva and wore a simpler mask, "Did she just claim have slain red wizards? Here? Surely she's bluffing."

Silently, Adahni pointed to the pile of bodies in the corner, just beyond the open door. Sheva went up to it, and rolled one over. She took in the red robes, the bald head, the tattoos.

"You weren't joking," she said, "How did red wizards infiltrate my city?"

"I haven't the slightest," Adahni said, "But they're gone now, and by mine and my associate's hands. I suggest that I would make a better friend than enemy, Sheva Whitefeather. I certainly hope that you and I can be friends."

"That does change things," the witch said, stroking her chin in thought, "If you defeat Okku, it is likely he will bother us no more. He is an honorable creature, if hotheaded, and will take it gracefully. Very well. I suggest this, Adahni Farishta, you will have to fight him no matter what, but I can offer you some assistance."

"What sort of assistance are we talking about?" Adahni asked.

"The jail is up the hill a bit. I give you the right to rescue any prisoner bound for the gallows to join you in your cause."

"A prisoner, you offer me?" Adahni asked, "And what sort of prisoners does Mulsantir have? Brawlers too lumbering to outrun the guards? Forgive my skepticism, Sheva Whitefeather, but how much help could they possibly be?"

Sheva's mouth cracked a half smile under her mask, "You'll have to see that for yourself. Find what allies you can, and I suggest you hurry. This city does not fare well cut off from the rest of the world."

"It seems I have no choice," she sighed, "Very well."

The three witches exited the theater, leaving Adahni and Safiya to look at each other.

"I knew that wasn't the last we'd see of the bear god," Safiya said.

"Let's just hope that he's as easy to defeat as last time," Adahni sighed, "Come on, let's go comb the jail for acceptable convicts. Good gods, just when I think things might be smooth sailing, something like this occurs…" They walked down the steps of the theatre and out into the street.

"Wait!"

Adahni turned to see who had called her. She sighed in exasperation when she saw it was two odd-looking creatures – human enough to look at them, but with large, feathery wings sprouting out of their backs where their shoulderblades should have ended. "What do you want?" she asked.

"I overheard your… conversation with the wychlaren," the first said. He sounded male, and looked like a man. He wore fine bronze armor that glinted in the sunlight, and on his head was a helmet with the horns of a large stag seeming to grow out of it.

"What about it?" she asked.

"You… you're an aasimar!" he exclaimed upon drawing closer and looking her in the face, "Yes! I'd recognize that smell anywhere!" Then he did a very unexpected thing, and gave her a bear hug that lifted her clean off her feet. She would have normally begun beating him about the face to get him to put her down, but she didn't feel threatened, and figured that it was probably best not to make any new enemies in this land, "I, too, have the blood of the celestial! It is so rare to meet an earthbound cousin!"

"I ain't your cousin," Adahni said, "Please put me down."

The stag man put her down, as she had requested. He was joined of a sudden by a woman, with similar wings, but black of hair and red of eye. Having grown used to strange things happening, Adahni just stood there and accepted her existence without question.

"She must be the daughter of one of the lesser angels," the black-haired woman said, skeptically, "Are you sure she can help us?"

"Well shit, I'm sorry I didn't sprout wings like you," Adahni retorted, "Just tell me what you want."

"Our sister," the stag man said, "Kaelyn the Dove. She has disappeared into Shadow Mulsantir, and we have not the wherewithal to find her."

"And what makes you think I have?" Adahni countered.

"We know there's a shadow portal behind that theater. Why else would a stranger like you go in there?" the blackhaired woman said.

"Because I have a healthy appreciation for the dramatic arts," Adahni said. She reached into her pocket and fingered the shadow stone that Magda had given her, "Go on."

"We are known as the menagerie," the stag man said, "I am Efrem the Stag, this is Susah the Raven. Kaelyn is the eldest of five, all of us serving Kelemvor."

"The God of Death?" Adahni asked, "Well that's a bit creepy…"

"Kaelyn has abandoned our faith, and serves Ilmater!"

"Ilmater the pain-bearer. Now that's just annoying," she said, remembering the self-flagellating priests and priestesses, seemingly in a continual state of martyrdom. She had always wanted to inform them that pain doesn't count when it's you yourself that inflicts it. She had no patience for the lot of them, "But what concern of this is mine?"

"We need you to find her for us," the raven said, "If you do, we will help you in your fight against the bear god."

"Now you've told me something I wanted to hear," Adahni said, "I'm surprised you didn't say so in the first place, I might have been more polite. I will try to do as you ask, but can I ask what on earth she was doing in Shadow Mulsantir in the first place? It's not a place one goes for a pleasant stroll."

"She is trying to open the Death God's Vault," Efrem said, his voice hollow and somber.

"Kelemvor?"

"No," he replied, "Myrkul." He paused after the name, presumably to let some meaning sink in, but Adahni was unclear what he was talking about. "Myrkul was the old god of death, before Mystra slew him, and he was replaced by Kelemvor. He kept a vault in Shadow Mulsantir, where his temple still stands. Kaelyn has gone to try and open it, a fool's errand if I ever heard of one!"

"A creepy errand," Adahni sighed, "Very well, if it will secure me a few allies that aren't degenerate convicts in this fight, then I'll give it a go. Can you tell me where the portal is?"

"She disappeared behind the stables by the eastern wall," Susah said, "We can only imagine it's back there."

"And you can only get there at night!" Efrem added.

"Very well," Adahni said, "I'll see what I can do."

"Oh thank you, cousin!" Efrem exclaimed, hugging her again.

"No, seriously," Adahni said, "I ain't your cousin. My father was Farishta. I don't know what kind of angel he was, but he sure didn't worship Kelemvor. At least I hope he didn't."

"Farishta," Efrem mused, "Yes, I've heard that name. I think he might be only a half-celestial, like us."

"He doesn't have wings," Adahni said. She had met her father a grand total of once. She lay dying at the foot of a cliff, a cliff that she had walked off of while disoriented by an assassin's poison, and her father had rescued her, walking through the planes to his home on the Celestial plane. There, he had healed her, fed her, and sent her back on her way. She related this story briefly to the siblings, curious in spite of herself about what knowledge they might have of the man who sired her.

"Not all of us do," Efrem said, "From you story, he probably is half celestial, but to travel so easily among the planes, he must be powerful indeed. You come from an honorable lineage."

"It's not my lineage I'm concerned with," Adahni said, "It's my own actions. I am defined by those, not whose blood runs through my veins."

"Tell me, why do you hope he is not a follower of Kelemvor?" Efrem asked.

"Because it's fucking creepy, that's why," Adahni said in irritation, "Just tell me where to find you after I've gone in after your sister, and I'll let you know when I know what happened to her."

"We're a little hard to miss," Susah said, gesturing to the wings on her back, "We'll be around. Just… be careful. She gets herself into some ridiculous situations and I've no doubt this is one of them."

"I like you, Susah," Adahni said, "Do me a favor. From now on, I'm going to deal with you, and not the flying stag."

"Very well," Susah said, a faint smile playing about her mouth, "Remember, you can't reach it until nightfall."

"This nightfall," Adahni said, "I am going to go to sleep, because I'm unnaturally exhausted. I will try to get to Shadow Musantir at dusk tomorrow, and that's the best you will be getting out of me."

Efrem opened his mouth to speak, but Adahni shut up him with a glance. She and Safiya turned, and walked away from the siblings. The jail was up the hill, and was unremarkable but unmistakable. Safiya offered no opinion on the stag and the raven, but expressed her discomfort at being asked to travel to Shadow Mulsantir again.

"I don't like them either," Adahni said. In truth, she was uncomfortable with her heritage. Despite her unusual coloring – brown skin and black hair in a part of the world dominated by pale and blue-eyed blonds had always made her something of a stranger, and not to mention the pale brown eyes that looked almost yellow – she had never really felt herself anything but human. In fact, here in Rashemen and previously in Thay, she felt as though she fit in with the olive-skinned and dark-haired natives. The encounter with the half-celestials made her a little uncomfortable as she felt again the depths of her difference from the rest of the world, "But they may be powerful."

"Indeed," Safiya agreed, "Still, we will be putting ourselves in danger."

"More danger than fighting the bear god, just us two?"

"Perhaps not quite."

The jail was housed in a building of wood, not stone, with black iron gates on all of the cells but one. Two of the prisoners were sleeping, a Halfling, and an odd-looking bluish man who had the look of a half-orc.

"What is that?" Adahni asked, pointing to the simian-looking man-thing snoring away in a patch of sunlight. His hair and skin had a bluish cast, and his jaw was too big for his face. His bottom teeth stuck out over his upper lip, giving him the look of a particularly ugly bulldog.

"Hagspawn," Safiya said, "The offspring of a hag and a human male."

"Must have been a very drunk human male," Adahni commented, thinking of the illustrations of hags in her storybooks. All aged and bent over. The fact that they had working reproductive systems baffled her. "What about that one?" she asked, pointing to the cell at the end.

"That looks like a hagspawn too," Safiya said, "Different kind of hag, though. Night hag. Can probably walk in dreams."

"I'd ask you what in the hells you mean by 'walk in dreams,' but I figure if it can, then it can tell me all about it itself."

The cell at the end had no physical door, but just an empty doorway. It was, however, covered in runes. The creature inside – it looked male by Adahni was not quite sure – was seated in a circle, not unlike the summoning circle that Ammon Jerro had kept his demons and devils in. She walked into the room – the wards did nothing against her – and cleared her throat.

The prisoner rose. He looked dreadfully familiar, Adahni observed. He had slightly different coloring than the hagspawn in the next cell, more blue-grey than blue-green, and his features resembled more a handsome man's than the bastard offspring of an orc and a bulldog. He grinned when he saw her, his teeth cutting an ivory slash across his bluish skin.

"I wondered when you'd get here," he said, "They all do come seek me out eventually."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Adahni said. She stared at him, searching her mind for where she knew him from. It came to her of a sudden. _When I passed out after gorging myself on that wolf spirit… he was there. I dreamed of the Cuckoo's Nest and he was the only one there I didn't recognize. _He must have seen the look of recognition cross her face. Safiya looked at her in alarm.

"Now, my pet," he said, "We both know what it is that's going on here. You saw me in your dreams, and here you are. So many seek Gannayev out, so few succeed in finding him in the waking world! But you, you have succeeded. You must be an extraordinary woman, on the inside, as well as the out. It will be a pleasure getting to know you."

"What… how do you know we'll even have a conversation beyond this one?" she asked, a little perturbed.

"Because I have seen inside your soul. You are going to ask me to come with you on an adventure," Gannayev said.

"What makes you think that?" Adahni asked, "What can you do? Why is it I want you along? After all, you do seem to be quite stuck here."

"And what makes you think I am not fond of my surroundings?" he asked, "But please, do not toy with me."

"Very well," Adahni said, "The Wychlaren have given their permission for me to take on any convict in here that agrees to help me defeat Okku."

"Ah, so Old King Bear has arisen from his hibernation once more. Well that settles it, I'm not going anywhere near him," he said.

"But you sounded so hopeful when you decided I was asking you along," Adahni said.

"That was before I knew about the bear king. Nope. Not interested," Gannayev said. He crossed his arms over his chest, sat himself back down within his circle, and turned his face to the wall.

"Very well," Adahni said, "Let's go Safiya, it seems this creature isn't enough of a man to face a real foe. Such a pity."

She turned on her heel, and made as if to leave. She had reached the door before the prisoner sighed, "All right, fine, I think something could be negotiated. My, but you are a charming haggler. Watch yourself, or soon they will throw you in here as well."

"And who's to say I still want you?" Adahni asked, raising her eyebrows at the hagspawn.

He smiled again, "Because you're desperate. It oozes from your pores. Now come, love, take me from this dreadful place. Spirit me away with you, preferably to somewhere with decent ale and a warm bed – and a warm body to share it with."

"I can promise you the first two," Adahni sighed, "The last one you'll have to pay for yourself."


	8. Me, a Poor Stranger

Back at the Sloop, Adahni sat her aching bones in a chair and ordered herself, and her companions, a few tankards of the house stout. They each ordered something to eat, the red wizard and hagspawn ordering safe items like fish that didn't look too mutated, and a game hen that they observed the cook slaughter himself so they knew it was fresh. Adahni, however, was feeling odd cravings, and she managed to put away a plate of calf's liver with a soft cheese on a quarter loaf of dark bread. _I don't even _like _liver, _she thought, but gobbled it down like it was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted. _Gods, why am I so hungry?_

Safiya had been oddly silent the entire way back to the inn, and now sat silently at the table, staring into her mug. The hagspawn, by contrast, could not be stopped from talking. Adahni tuned him out a half hour in or so. The troupe of actors had left the stage and were no longer rehearsing, and the place seemed to be missing something without them. Sure, there were patrons aplenty making all the noise that patrons could be expected to make, but something in the background was lacking. Adahni, looked at Safiya thoughtfully, wondering if there was more to the story of her and Khai Khmun than she had imagined at first. She had never killed a former lover, though she had come close, and could only imagine how dirty inside it must make one feel. Safiya sighed slightly, and took a drink.

"Oh, come now, love, no reason to look so glum. You are one of the two lucky ladies at my table tonight. You'll be the envy of the realm!" Gannayev exclaimed. Safiya looked at him as though he had just stabbed her through the heart, slammed her empty tankard down on the table, and ran back to the room she was sharing with Adahni.

"Do you think you're dreadfully clever or something?" Adahni snapped at the hagspawn.

He looked at her, taken aback, his eyes wide and blue, "You're quite the uncouth one, Miss Adahni Farrrishta!" he rolled the "r" in her name excessively, which irritated her even more, "Do you not find my words pleasing?"

"Not in the least," she said, "And you're not nearly as good looking as you think you are."

"I will have you know that farmers daughters the land over are at this moment swooning over me!" he protested.

"Let me rephrase that," Adahni said, "You're not nearly as good looking as you'd need to be for having such an unpleasant personality. Perhaps virginal farm girls who've never seen a man except their dad and brothers might fall under your spell, hagspawn, but you'll find none of those here. So do us all a service and keep your damn mouth shut before I pin it closed with a rusty paring knife!"

"Touchy touchy!" he said, "My, but you are a spitfire! Whatever lad you keep at home is a lucky man indeed!"

"What makes you think that I have a lad at home?" she countered, taking another swig.

"That ring on your finger," he said, "Someone gave that to you. When you take it off, I can see that beneath it, your skin is paler. You rarely take it off during the day."

She looked down at the ring on her finger, a silver snake with garnet eyes. Indeed, it was a gift, given to her by Bishop. It was not a token of love though, but a memento, a keepsake from Kyla who had always worn it.

"Or has the gift giver passed to the next life?" he exclaimed, "Oh, how tragic!"

"No," she said, "He lives, and awaits my return, which is why I am eager to be done with this city and return to my ship."

"A ship!" Gann exclaimed, "Now that's quite romantic, I must say. What is it you do for a living? Your dreams have told me many things…"

"I'll thank you to stay away from my dreams," she snorted, "But if you must ask, I'm a sailor. I sail aboard the schooner _Dance of the Damned _out of Luskan."

"Now that is quite a journey!" Gann exclaimed, "I've never met a Luskan before. Tell me, are all the women in Luskan as lovely as you are?"

"I'm not from there," she said, "I'm Neverese."

"How very interesting!" he exclaimed, "And how is it you came to be here?"

"Buy me a beer and I'll tell you," she said. She got squarely into 'bard mode,' and told him the entire thing, starting with running away from home at fifteen, her time on the Luskan docks, working as a bard in the Sunken Flagon. She was apparently doing her job well, for the hagspawn listened intently to the whole thing, wide-eyed, laughed and clapped out loud at the happy parts, and looked positively crestfallen at the sad parts – the deaths of her companion Shandra Jerro and her lover Jem Quarely. As she continued to tell it, more and more patrons began to listen to her, reacting similarly to Gann. With their attention came more beer, and she found her tankard always full as she continued in. Loving the audience, she put more of herself into it, describing the shining towers of Crossroad Keep, the terror of fighting bandits and orcs, the horrible feeling that dropped the bottom out of her stomach when Bishop sabotaged her castle. It was the wee hours of the morning before she got to the end, her descent into the depths of the Mere of Dead Men and her terrifying battle with the King of Shadows. The crowd gasped and put their hands over their mouths as she described him, and the battle, and then Bishop's final appearance, only to abandon the King of Shadows as he had abandoned her. Two women were crying as she described the ceiling coming down on them, the rocks falling like rain, brave Khelgar's death beneath the stones, and Casavir's death in her arms.

"How… how did you survive?" Gannayev asked. His eyes were wide, and he was clearly quite taken with her story.

"Bishop rescued me," she said, "On the second day, he dug down, found me, and dragged me out. My leg was very badly broken, and so we camped out atop a hill until it would hold me. He saved my life, you see, and the only repayment he asked was my forgiveness."

"That's terribly romantic," sighed one of the crying women.

"And then, we found our way to the sea. Back when I was a whore in Luskan, I had made friends with a pirate named Mackrem Cullygan. And we've been sailing the seas ever since."

"How did you come here?" asked Gann.

"I don't really know," Adahni said, "Our ship was in a storm. I received a wicked bump to the head and landed in the sea. I managed to swim to land, passed out, and woke up here."

"I've had that happen before," an old grizzled salt said, "But we're miles and miles from the sea. Must have been one hell of a dram of whiskey you drank!"

Adahni laughed, playing along, not wanting to let on that she really didn't know what was going on, and she was really very concerned about it.

"You are quite a bard, Miss Adahni Farrrishta," Gann said, leaning his head on his head, "Sing us a song before we retire! I am quite taken with your talents."

A few minutes before, Adahni was not drunk enough to oblige, but now, she felt the love of the crowd that she had so loved when she lived in Neverwinter. Here in this land of strangers, feeling approval from her fellows filled a void that had been in her since she landed.

"Someone give me a lute," she said, "Or a mandolin.

"I've got a mandolin," offered the barman. He walked up and handed her an instrument. It was old, and it took her awhile to tune it, but it worked eventually. She sang a song she'd learned in Luskan, when she was new there, that had spoken to her heart. Here, even further away than everything familiar, she recalled it.

_When I first came to this country, the years they number nine_

_I saw many fair lovers, but never saw mine_

_I looked all around me, saw I was quite alone_

_And me a poor stranger and a long way from home,_

She hadn't had a barroom rapt in years, but to them this was new music, foreign music.

_Fare thee well oh my mother, fare thee well to father too_

_I am going for to ramble this wide world all through_

_And when I get weary I'll sit down and moan_

_And think of my own love, my true love, my own_

_Oh I wish I were a turtledove, had wings and could fly _

_I would fly o'er the salt sea, tonight I draw nigh_

_And there in his arms, I would lay there all night_

_And watch on the horizon for the first morning light_

She stopped singing, her voice clogged n her throat. Without a word, she put the mandolin gently on the floor, got up, and went to her room, where she got into the bed across the room from Safiya and buried her head in the pillow, feeling quite alone indeed.

* * *

><p>Anchored off of the Lapendrar river somewhere in Thay, the navigator lay, sleeping in a hammock he'd slung from the bowsprit. He couldn't handle the inside, the bunk he used to share with her. She'd been gone nearly two weeks, and they'd made scant progress up the river to find her. He lay there, staring at the stars, so different from the ones he was used to seeing at home in Neverwinter. <em>What if she's gone? <em>He thought. She'd never been gone before. The longest she'd been 'gone' was the year she'd been back in Westharbor. Would it be another year before he saw her again? What if she wasn't even _in _Rashemen? What if she were wandering the woods, disoriented, no more than a mile away?

Or what if she'd perished in that storm and he was a fool to keep his hopes up.

He lit a smoke, unable to sleep. He heard the sounds of the river lapping against the hull of the ship, the slow wind off the desert. He heard a flapping of wings and he sat up, looking to see what river bird was making it.

There was no river bird, only a gray dove, fluttering up to him. It alighted on the bowsprit above him and sat there, looking at him. And then it did an odd thing, and fluttered down and landed on his breast. It didn't seem to be attacking him, and so he let it stay there, nuzzled under his chin. Feeling somehow at peace, he fell asleep to its soft cooing.


	9. The Temple of the Old God

Adahni woke the next morning, having had a very strange dream where she was a pigeon and she flew high over the land to find her ship. She had found it, and its navigator, anchored in the river. She imagined it was just all the liver she had eaten the night before, combined with the very sad song she had sung, but in the morning she felt a little better. She felt less so when she sat up to see that the hagspawn Gann was seated crosslegged at her feet. She looked over at Safiya, who was seated on her own bed. The two of them were apparently waiting for her to awake.

"What in the hells are you doing there, hagspawn?" she asked.

"Waiting for you to awake, my lady" he said, grinning slyly, "How did you like your dream?"

"My… that was you? I told you to stay out of those!" she exclaimed, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks.

"You gifted me with a story, I gifted you with a dream. It was a good story, and so I gave you a good dream. I felt the longing in your voice, and I had hoped to relieve some of it," Gann said, "If you're truly so ungrateful for it, I can give you nightmares from now on."

"Aye," she said gruffly, "Well, thank you, I suppose. We ought to gear up properly, for tonight we enter the shadow plain in search of this Kaelyn the Dove."

"You're going to have to redo… me," Safiya said. She had taken a bath, evidently, and washed the paint from her face. Adahni nodded, and mixed up the paints. Gann watched her with fascination as she covered the red wizard's tattoos completely, making her again into an ordinary woman. She saw as she painted over the marks on her head that no hair grew there at all, meaning she was either naturally bald, or that she had done something to make sure her hair never grew back.

"That is quite a trick!" he exclaimed, "I should be more careful whose dreams I enter… imagine what they looked like before they've done their faces up. Not to insult your beauty, my dear red wizard, but if you could cover those tattoos, imagine what an ugly woman could cover!"

"If you were patient, perhaps you could cover up the fact that you're blue," Adahni muttered, "If we're going to start making fun of the way each other look now…"

"You wound me deeply, my pet," Gann said.

"If I were your pet, I would wish to be a lemming," she said.

Gann only chuckled, nothing able to touch his ego.

They went out into the market that day. Gann had a few gold pieces on him, and got himself some passable armor, and a bow that he seemed to halfway know how to use. Adahni was rather glad that he was along, for he managed to take most of the attention off of Safiya. He was Rashemi, but a hagspawn. They were not precisely welcome, but nowhere near as reviled as the Red Wizards of Thay. He blew kisses at the groups of people who stared at him as they passed, generally hamming it up and unperturbed by the fact that their attention was likely negative.

Wandering Mulsantir took most of the day. It wasn't really much of a town, after all, mostly a small collection of houses by the port. Certainly nothing compared to the civilized, cobblestoned streets of Neverwinter, Adahni thought, a bit derisively. They took some rest before night fell – who knew how much time they would have to spend on the shadow plane before locating Kaelyn the Dove or whateve ridiculous name she'd given herself. Adahni, though she had had a full night's rest and then some, slept like the dead, and only awoke with Safiya shaking her after sundown. Groggy, she strapped on her armor and followed her companions.

By night, Mulsantir was blacker than black. In Neverwinter and Luskan, lanterns lit the streets even in the coldest nights of winter. Here in Mulsantir, though, there were no lights, and the people had all locked and barred their shutters so no candlelight from inside trickled onto the streets. Adahni summoned the light of the aasimar, a small and bright light that hung somewhere over her head as she walked, and this lit their way. Here, nobody commented on it. What with hagspawn and half-celestials and witches wandering the streets, her touch of celestial blood was nothing to comment upon.

"They said it was near the stables," Safiya offered unhelpfully, for Adahni had already headed out in that direction. They hunted through the darkened stable, trying not to disturb the sleeping horses, until Gann stopped, pointing at a yawning portal that hung, shimmering blackly, in an empty stall.

"You can see it, even though you don't have the stone?" Adahni asked, puzzled, for Safiya had not been able to see the portal in Lienna's room. The red wizard now gripped her arm, and saw it too.

"I am a walker in dreams, my pet," Gann said, smiling mysteriously, "And dreams are quite like planes."

"I'm not going to ask you to explain what that means, for I imagine it will take the better part of the night," Adahni said, "Now, shall we?"

"Ladies first," Gann said nervously.

Adahni rolled her eyes, but stepped through the portal, blade first. She was glad for the light above her head, for what was difficult to see in the dark of Mulsantir, was doubly so in the colorless world beyond the portal. The streets crawled with shadows, some of whom left her alone, others who tried to fight them – and died for their troubles.

"If I were a Death God, where would I keep my vault?" Adahni mused.

"These Rashemi are quite taken with death gods," Safiya said.

"Yes, I'm aware of that," she said, recalling the very prominent temple of Kelemvor that stood atop the hill in normal Mulsantir. She had gone in, but the whole place felt… _wrong_ somehow. It stuck the hair up on the back of her neck for some inexplicable reason, and she was happy to greet the high priest perfunctorily and head back out into the street, "Do you think that the Temple of Kelemvor here might have it?"

"It's not a temple of Kelemvor," Gann informed her, "It's a temple of Myrkul."

The name sent a ripple of terror over Adahni's body. "That's… creepy," she said, "Do we have to go in there?"

"Well, if we intend on finding this Kaelyn the Dove, I would imagine that's the place to look," Safiya said. She had cast off her kerchief, not afraid of what might find her here in the shadow plane.

"I don't like it," Adahni repeated, "But very well, let's go. The sooner we get in, the sooner we can leave."

"Unless we're killed and chewed to bits by whatever beasties are waiting in there," Gann said, as she was stepping through.

She pulled Safiya through after her, the hagspawn at their heels. Shadow Mulsantir on the outside was even creepier than the old theatre. The air was unnaturally still. No birds, not even spirits, slept in the trees, no lights lit the streets. They made their way through the darkened and colorless streets and up the hell to the temple of Kelemvor. Only… it was not the same building at all. It looked more like a fortress of black stone than a temple. Unlike a fortress, though, the front door was quite open.

What surprised her about the inside, though, was that there was color. One color. Red. There were a number of pools set into the stone of the floor. Pools that might have been filled with holy water in any normal temple ran red and viscous with the blood of… sacrifices? Enemies? Did it matter? Adahni picked her way around them, not wanting to get her boots in them, and went into the main sanctuary. The walls were the same black stone as made up the outside, but covered in tapestries. A normal tapestry would be woven of many colors, but this was all shades of gray that Adahni found difficult to discern.

At the center of the sanctuary stood two great obsidian doors, all braced with wrought iron. The door had a great hole in the middle, a hole that looked uncannily like the mouth that had opened in Adahni's mind when she devoured those spirits. Before the door stood something quite out of place. A woman, a very tall one, white of skin and hair, with large sweeping wings coming from her shoulderblades.

"Are you Kaelyn the Dove?" Adahni called.

The woman turned, and Adahni saw that she had small features and black eyes like the animal for which she was name, "Yes," she said, "I am Kaelyn."

"This place is a little… grim… for a celestial, wouldn't you say? Even a follower of Kelemvor?" Adahni asked, looking around more as her eyes adjusted to the dim light. On further inspection, the decorations she had taken for wood carvings were, in fact, bones… some human, some dwarf, a few that could have been human children or elves.

"I no longer follow Kelemvor," Kaelyn said, "Did my brother send you?"

"Yes," Adahni replied, "He wanted me to come get you out of here… though it looks as though you haven't quite finished your mission yet."

Kaelyn sighed and turned her black eyes back to the door before her, "Clearly not. There's a space for a key, or something there, though it would have to be quite a large key. The size of…"

"A sword almost," Safiya said. She had broken from the rest of the group and gone to examine the door up close, "It looks like it would fit the blade of a longsword. Here…" She went up to the murals around the door, which depicted a great battle, hosts of different spirits and men, "This looks like it depicts the First Betrayer's Crusade."

Kaelyn turned her attention to the red wizard, "Indeed. You are well read."

"The High Priest of Myrkul lead a great battle against his former master," Safiya said, "A great planar war. The death god met him with an even larger host, and Akachi was defeated." She traced one thin finger along the mural, and paused at a figure holding a great sword. A familiar sword, in fact, "He wielded a Silver Sword, see here?"

"A silver sword?" Adahni said. She fingered the wound at her chest. It had mostly healed, but the jagged stitches still marred her skin. She probably should cut them out at some point, but had been reluctant to, given how weak she had been feeling for the past week or so, "How many of those are in existence?"

"Not that many," Kaelyn said, "This one was called the Silver Sword of Gith."

"I see," Adahni said, not betraying the fact that a puzzle piece had just fallen squarely into place, "Well… since there's not really much we can do here right now, would you consider coming with me back to the normal plane? Your siblings are worried about you."

"What did they offer you to come after me?" Kaelyn asked, looking directly at her.

In the black and white world of the Shadow Plane, nobody saw Adahni blush, "Assistance. It seems that Okku has surrounded the city of Mulsantir, crying for my blood."

"I will come back with you," Kaelyn said, "But it seems Efrem and Susah do not know what it is they have promised. I will assist you in your battle, but you must spare them this thing."

"You will face Okku, but you don't want Efrem and Susah to?" Adahni asked, skeptically.

"My brother is young, and thinks himself immortal, which he is not. A foolish boy, I'm sure you know the type. As for me, I have already turned my back on Celestia," Kaelyn said, "I will not be going back with them. I will, however, be assisting you."

"Excuse me?" Adahni asked.

"I have feelings about things," Kaelyn said, "And I think it may be you who holds the key to the Death God's vault. Whatever brought you on your journey here, stranger, is inextricably linked with what happens here in the temple of Myrkul."

"You couldn't pay me to go through that door," Adahni muttered, but was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, "I will need some convincing on that front. But for now, there's food and beds and such waiting for us."

The strange companions – aasimar, winged half-celestial, red wizard, and hagspawn, made their way back to where the stables stood in normal Mulsantir. One by one, they stepped through the yawning portal, and into the deadly silent night. Like the night before, there was no activity in the streets. It seemed all were shut tight in their beds, hoping that soon, the bear god would abandon their gates for something better. Adahni felt her stomach growl as they made their way back to the sloop. The cook had already gone to bed, and so the companions made due with bread and cheese, which Adahni gobbled down gratefully. Kaelyn was confused as to why the other two women asked if she would rather not share a room with Gannayev, and so Adahni and Safiya retired to their own room. Adahni was not precisely worried about Okku. She had faced worse foes before. She was more concerned with opening her way home.


	10. With Enemies Like These

The day dawned bright, clear, and cold. Adahni shivered while pulling on her leathers, and a set of roughspun woolen clothes on top of them. Safiya and Gann were grim, but Kaelyn seemed calm and serene, as they silently ate a stack of dark flour pancakes, spread liberally with sour cream. Rashemi cuisine was certainly odd, but it was heavy and would keep you warm through the chilly nights.

"There's not much we can do about this," Adahni said, looking at her companions and breaking the icy silence that had hung over their heads.

"We all knew what we were signing on for," Kaelyn said. Over the day or so that they'd known each other, Adahni realized that her most dove-like feature was the fact that the woman barely blinked. It unnerved her a bit, but she was getting used to it.

"I didn't," Safiya muttered.

"Seeing as you were present when he was provoked in the first place," Adahni admonished her, "I think you're as much at fault as I am."

Safiya sighed, acknowledging that she had a point. They finished their food, under the watchful eyes of the denizens of the inn. Adahni had always had a knack for getting people in her corner. Ever since she'd been accused of the slaughter of the Luskan village of Ember, she'd paid very close attention to how to convince people she was on their side. The others who had been staying in the inn liked her if only because she was charming as all the hells, and a foreigner and thus exotic. The other Rashemi she had encountered avoided her like the plague, knowing that he was she who had brought down that scourge that awaited outside the city walls upon them.

After she had eaten, Adahni still felt hungry, though her belly was full. She stretched and sighed, "Well I suppose there's no sense in putting it off any longer."

Her companions nodded their agreement, and they walked, two by two, through the empty streets of Mulsantir. Someone must have alerted the townsfolk that the day was today that the battle would take place, and everyone had shuttered themselves in their homes

"Okku!" she called as she strode through the gate, "I am coming for you!"

"And I have been waiting for you!" the bear god roared his reply. He rose up on his hind paws, his iridescent coat shimmering in the early morning sun. Adahni saw as other spirits materialized around them. Her stomach growled and rumbled involuntarily. She looked at Safiya, who knitted her brows and shook her head, clearly anticipating a repeat of the carnage that had occurred beneath the earth.

"He draws his power from the spirits around him, if we take them down, he will weaken," Gann murmured in Adahni's ear, putting his mouth closer to her than was necessary, so his hot breath tickled her ear and sent a jolt down the side of her body. She blushed and pulled away.

"Why not say it so we all can hear it?" she replied, irritably, rubbing at her ear.

"We heard him," Kaelyn said. If Adahni hadn't known the half-celestial better, she would have sworn that there was an amused smile on her face.

"Wipe that smirk off your face," she spat, "If you hadn't notice, we may be facing our impending doom."

"At last, you acknowledge the reality of your situation," Okku called, "Let us finish this."

It was as thought something switched on in Addie. The world seemed to fall silent, as she turned on her heel, her blade clearing its scabbard with a cold hiss. Okku was hanging back, behind his hoard of spirits. Gann nocked an arrow to his bow, and sent it whizzing through the air to strike a spectral entity in its throat. Safiya summoned magic from her fingertips, and Kaelyn drew her blade. She and Adahni exchanged a look, nodded to each other, and rushed forward, using their shields to ward off the worst of the blows. She stuck her blade into on spirit, and then the next. They didn't bleed, like normal creatures, but Adahni could sense something on the air as she cut them down, not quite a _smell _per se, but something like a smell.

She felt something within her open, like it had in the barrow. This time, though, she did not black out. It was as though Adahni had left her body and floated free. She watched herself, but it was not herself, only her body, from above the battle, at once feeling powerful and powerless. She watched her body, brown and bleeding, rush around the battlefield. She saw the other Addie cast away her blade and go at the spirits with her bare hands and teeth. She saw her companions recoil from her in fear, and saw the other spirits pause their fights to watch what she was doing with disgust and fear. Then, they began to run.

"No!" Okku roared, "Do not fear her! Cowards!"

But no, the spirits did not heed his shaming. They moved like an iridescent wave over the planes outside Mulsantir, fading into the landscape as they returned from whence they came. Soon, the great Bear God was alone on the field of battle.

_Oh hells no, that's _my _body, _she thought, and with whatever energy she could summon, she pushed herself towards where the entity that had taken her over was kneeling, the iridescent blood of spirits dripping from her chin. In a rush that left her staggering, she returned to her body with a snap. She shook her head, suddenly not so hungry anymore. She picked up her blade from the ground, and faced Okku, sword in hand.

"Your minions have left you," she said, resolving that she would deal with what she had just seen –what she had just _done _– once the imminent threat to her life was over, "Do you surrender?"

Okku roared, though she could hear something new – was it fear? – in his low and rumbling voice, "I know what you are, mortal." Adahni thought she saw the corners of his mouth turn up in something like a smile. She had seen Karnwyr the Wolf and her son Davy make what she referred to as dog-smiles, mimicking humans she thought, but evidently Okku had figured out how to smile all on his own. It made him look more, rather than less, menacing. She winced, a bit, but held firm, her blade in her hand.

"I know perfectly well _what _I am, bear-god," she replied, summoning this new energy she felt, with the spirit-blood of the spirit-beings she had devoured flowing from the corners of her mouth, to sing her own praises convincingly, "I am many things. I am a noble slayer of ancient guardians. I am a vengeful goddess against those who prey upon the weak. But mostly, right now, I am only a stranger in this land, and it has proven to be a hostile land indeed, one which I would leave as soon as I am allowed back to the road."

The bear god paused, and stomped the ground with his forepaws, "You are a cold woman from a cold place, Rashemen should suit you. But moreover, you are an eater of spirits."

"Fascinating!" she heard Gann exclaim. She had developed a sixth sense for when he was sneaking up on her, but this time he caught her off guard, appearing behind her, examining her closely, his face much too close to the back of her neck so as to obey the personal space rules she'd been taught since she was a child. She shoved him away gently, and continued talking to the bear. He continued to observe her from a more appropriate distance of several feet.

"How very descriptive," Adahni said, "Seeing as I hadn't had this problem since I woke up in _your _barrow, can I assume you had something to do with this?"

"You could," Okku rumbled, "But you would be wrong. I did not curse you with this particular curse."

"So it's a curse," Adahni deduced, "Tell me. Tell me of this curse or I'll devour you too!"

Okku looked to the left and the right, "If that is your choice, I can do nothing to stop you."

Her belly rumbled loudly and embarrassingly. Behind her, she sense the dreamwalker snap straight upright as though someone had dropped an ice cube down his back. She felt it rumble again, and though she had fed on spirits galore only a few minutes before, something was telling her that this one, this Okku, would be exceptionally delicious….. and powerful. She did not hunger, though, and she looked at Okku rather like he was a delicate dessert served after a hearty meal. She did not feel the need to suck his soul dry like she had the others…

_Oh, but it would feel so good to do so, wouldn't it Addie? _She smiled in spite of herself. For a moment, a brief moment, she felt as she had during the battle, as though she were standing outside herself, and the woman she was staring at looked like her, but was not. Other-Addie grinned a ghoulish grin, her teeth white and wolfish. _But which is me? _she thought. She tried to look down at her hands, but it was as though she were entirely disembodied, only a floating spirit on the wind, as insubstantial as any of the Telthor she had just felled and feasted on.

She looked at Other-Addie, this other entity that had taken over her body, that was smiling with her mouth. She reached out, with hands she could not see, and took herself by the throat. Other-Addie looked surprised for a moment.

_Let me in, _Addie said. The entity that was inhabiting her resisted for a moment. Other-Addie struggled, trying to pry her hands lose from her throat, but eventually gave in, surrendering her body back with a groan and a sigh. She snapped back to reality, but for the first time, was aware of a very strange feeling. A feeling of not being alone in her own body.

_It's getting crowded in here, _a voice within her said, _Soon you will have to bargain with me, or I will cast you out entirely._

_Shut up. I just fed you, _she said to Other-Addie, _You are not needed now._

Recovering control of her head and hands, she looked the bear-god in the eye. "No," she said, shaking her head after a long moment's pause, "I will not be dining upon you today."

She could sense the tension seep from the old bear's body. He had been more frightened than she had at first thought, and even the limited expression's available to a bear's features betrayed this. "I thank you," the bear said, "I was… worried for a moment there."

Adahni nodded without speaking.

"I once faced one of your kind," Okku went on, "One of your predecessors, I should said, for the curse of the Spirit-Eater is one that is passed from one to another, down the line. I remember, in the icy north, the Spirit-Eater spared my life when he could have eaten me and fended off his inevitable death for many weeks that way…"

"Whoa… what's that? Inevitable death?" Adahni asked in alarm.

"It is a curse," Kaelyn chimed in, "A legend in Rashemen. The curse makes the host hungers for spirits. The host goes to feast upon the spirits of the land, but over time, the hunger grows until it devours the host itself. And then the curse goes on to find a new host, a new shell that will feed it."

"So…" Adahni said, her heart sinking to her uncomfortably full stomach, "How long do I have?" She experienced yet another distortion of her perception that day as time seemed to slow and the bright morning sky went dim around the edges. _How much time? Long enough to find my way to the _Dance_? Long enough to see him one more time? _She turned the ring on her finger, the unbearable fear dying alone whipping her insides into a frenzy. She cast about frantically, to the left, to the right. _Downriver… I must get downriver…_

"That's the question you asked?" Gannayev asked, looking at her oddly, cocking his head to the side, "If I were to hear that, my first question would be how to end the curse?"

"You heard the bear," Adahni said, her voice moving thickly past her leaden tongue, "Inevitable death."

"Oh, come now, my lemming," Gann said, "How many times have you survived inevitable death?"

She looked at the dreamwalker despairingly, her topaz eyes locking on to his blue ones. She saw sympathy somewhere deep in their depth, beyond the sparkling amusement that they usually expressed.

"I once swore an oath," Okku rumbled, "I swore an oath to the spirit-eater who spared me to free him from his curse. I am ashamed to tell you that I have failed, though you must have figured that out by now. To you, Adahni Farishta, I swear the same oath. And I swear that this time, I will not fail."

Adahni stared at the bear king in astonishment, "So you believe it can be done?" A slim candle's flame of hope ignited atop the despair in her chest.

"I do," the bear-god said, "Do you accept my company?"

"I don't think I have much of a choice," Adahni sighed, "I do believe this is my only chance."

"Oh please, my lemming," Gann said, slinging an arm around her shoulder and guiding her back towards the city gates. Feeling weak and sapped, she did not push him away as she normally would have, but leaned on him, appreciating the strength of his broad shoulders, "How many 'only chances' have you blown, only to pick yourself back up and find another?"

"Who are you, my personal praise-signer?" she asked, making a face at the hagspawn, but putting her hand on his arm to assure him that she was only joking.

The dreamwalker chuckled, "It sounds like you could use one."

"Good gods, I suppose you have a point," Adahni sighed.

"Why, Addie, that's the first nice thing you've ever said to me," Gann exclaimed.

"Sometimes people grow on me," Adahni said, "You know, like a foot fungus I can't be bothered to treat." She paused, trying to remember where she had heard that particular backhanded compliment. _Sand, _she thought, _Sand… talking about Bishop. _She chuckled at the memory of the Moon Elf and his wry sense of humor. He had escaped the collapsing cave, Neeshka on his arm. If Neeshka had lived to become the Captain of Crossroad, then Sand must have gotten out as well, "I suppose I'd rather take the chance on living."

This she said, but her thoughts went somewhere darker. _Two weeks, _she thought, _I'll give it two weeks. If I haven't figured it out by then, I will go to the South. I will track down the _Dance of the Damned, _and at least if I'm going to die this time, it will be in the right man's arms._


	11. The Navigator's Dream

The Lapendrar river was not nearly as navigable as the Wash for a ship as large as the Dance. Cullygan and his officers - Bull Stonefoot, a highly literate orc known only as Gorga, and Keowan the navigator, sat down with a shipmaster in Escalant. The ship would have to be nearly taken apart, the masts taken down and stowed, iron hooks affixed to the sides so that chains could be strung from them to the banks, where the ship would be moved by beasts of burden and - as Keowan assumed - the crew themselves, slowly but surely, up river to Thaymount. In Thaymount, the shipmaster said, they would have to hire on a wizard or two. The intersection of the three rivers in that town was impossible to navigate without magic. But, he assured them, wizards were a dime a dozen in that town, and surely there would be academy students only too eager to mess with the currents for a few gold. They left the shop and went back to the inn to discuss their prospects.

Seated around a round table in a private room in the back of the inn, the four pirates looked rather glumly at each other, not pleased with the amount of money they would have to part with to bring their vessel up river, through Thay, and to the promise of fortunes on the shores of Lake Mulsantir.

"Lake Mulsantir had better be home to a goodly fortune, for all the trouble we're going through," Gorga sighed, giving voice to the fears that they had all been harboring. Her speech was somewhat obscured by the great curling tusks that protruded from her chin, but she had no trouble making herself understood when she wanted to.

"There were too many wanted posters in Bezantur for my taste," Bull Stonefoot said, "We're getting a little too infamous along the Sea of Fallen Stars. Time to move on before the lot of us are dancing the dead man's jig on the end of a rope."

"And spend all of our gold and more than a month on trip upriver that might not even yield?" Gorga challenged, "Better to head south, hit towns on the northern coast of Turmish."

The navigator said nothing, but looked fervently at the captain. The halfling stroked his chin and looked thoughtfully at the table, "Bull, you've been with me this last ten years, Gorga, for five. I value your counsel greatly. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"I'm just... concerned," Gorga said, "We lost three crewmembers to the fever on the trip up the Wash. I would have hoped that would be our last attempt at navigating a river. Now that the Sea of Fallen Stars has shown to be less... lucrative... than I would have hoped when we chose to come here, I am a bit reluctant to repeat the experience."

"She has a point, Captain," Bull said.

"What do you think, Keowan?" asked Cullygan.

The navigator was silent a moment, "You know what I think."

"Surely you can't relish the thought of tugging a seafaring schooner up a river, against the current, day after day, for only the possibility of a profit once we reach the lake," Gorga said. She had made it clear over the last couple of years that she did not value the input of the young navigator very highly, but begrudgingly acknowledged his competence when forced to. That she was seeking to get him on her side was surprising to say the least.

"I was always better at navigating by land," he said simply and diplomatically, something that Addie would have done, "As for the physical labor, I've never been afraid of that either." He was silent a moment, and then his nature got the better of him. He laid his cards on the table. "I will be remaining in the area whether the Dance does or not. I wish you luck in finding a new navigator before you sail for Turmish." He rose then.

"Hold up," Captain Cullygan said, "Nothing's been decided yet."

"I've grown weary of waiting for every damn decision being hemmed and hawed over for days," he said, "You decide among yourselves, you know my opinion and I'll not waste another minute sitting at this table waiting while you go over every single detail."

"You're coming dangerously close to mutiny, sailor," Gorga snarled.

"I've no interest in your ship, Cully," he replied, "If you order me to stay, I suppose I'll have to stay."

Cullygan may have looked like a ten year old boy from a distance, but he was shrewd as a old woman. He picked his battles, and he knew that arguing with the lad was an absolute waste of time. He didn't quite trust the boy, after all, he was well aware of his past. Adahni might have chosen to forgive him, and that was her right, but Cullygan reserved his own and always kept one eye open around him. Without the girl there to temper him, he didn't wonder if he might be better off without him for a bit, if only to placate the other two, "You're relieved of your post," the captain said curtly, "Get your things from the ship, get your pay from Bull, and be on your way."

"So you're giving me the boot?" he countered, "Good luck finding a competent navigator in this one-horse town."

Cullygan cleared his throat, "I don't know that dragging a schooner up river requires much of your skill, Keowan. You're completely useless to us on this journey and for sure and certain, the rest of us are sick of being 'round you acting like a damned bleedin' woman. Take some time, get your shit together. If you decide to start bein' a man, we'll be in the port of Mulsantir in a month or two."

Bull and Gorga looked at each other, and then at the captain. They saw only too late what he'd done. He'd kept the plan of sailing upriver, but in exchange had gotten rid of the navigator, whom they had to admit had been quite difficult to deal with over the past two weeks. Without another, they could not return to the sea. They would have to take their chances on the river, and the inland great lake that it would take them too.

Keowan spat on the floor as he left. He'd made the threat to quit without really meaning it, something he should have known better than to do. If you're going to pull out a knife in a fist fight you'd better be ready to use it, after all. He wandered the streets of Escalant for an hour, his face scarlet with fury and embarrassment. He didn't really own that much anymore, and if he were to start travelling by land he'd have to replace much of his gear. He'd taken a gander at few maps at the local cartographer's. He'd always had an eye for landscapes. Mulsantir was a long journey, out of Thay and into Rashemen. He didn't doubt that it would likely take him nearly as long on foot as it took them to tug the whole damned ship upriver. He paced along the river bank, chain smoking, his mind racing every which way.

"Lad," he heard the captain's voice. He turned to see that the halfling pirate had been standing there, watching him with a small smile on his face.

"What in the fuck do you want? You've gotten rid of me. Here to celebrate as I stalk off into the woods?"

"Oh, stop actin' the fool," Cullygan said, "Bull n' Gorga, they've their own ideas about how a ship should be run. Probably be best if they went off and got their own, frankly, but I ain't about to drag them so far from the Sword Coast an' leave 'em here"

Keowan looked at him suspiciously, "But you'll leave me here?"

"I ain't leaving you anywhere," Cullygan said, "I'm sendin' you on a journey."

Keowan looked at him cagily, but there was no deception in the halfling's face. Considering his occupation, the little pirate was quite an honest men as men went.

"And why's that?" he asked, "That you'd want me on foot to Mulsantir?"

"This is going to be a slow and sweaty trek, for sure and certain," Cullygan said, "You'll go through towns along the rivers ahead of us. I'll need you to be takin' note of a few things. The ...erm... economic situation of some of the smaller towns. Whether there's a banking system. A particular lord with a treasury and a mansion on the riverfront. The size of their town guards."

The navigator cracked a smile despite himself.

"Here," the captain said, "When you go by, leave a signal for us. Douse a tree in oil, set it on fire so's we see the burnt out husk along the river bank. Put slanty hash marks on a tree indicating whether the town's worth raiding, one being poor as a temple mouse, five bein' a great fortune. Horizontal dashes for the size and efficacy of the local constabulary, one for an old man with a pitchfork, five for a lord's army."

"Very well," Keowan said, "And how is this particular work being financed?"

"By you not havin' to bust yer arse hauling the damn ship upriver for the better part o' two months," the halfling replied, "You'll get your normal share from the towns we hit when we meet up in Mulsantir. And... I have something else for you."

"What?" Keowan asked.

The halfling let loose a high-pitched whistle. From a thicket of bushes on the outskirts of town, an animal burst onto the street and raced towards them. It took Keowan a second to realize that it was none other than the black dog Davy, who trotted up to them like he hadn't been anywhere. He was dirty and burr-covered, but looked fairly well-fed. Keowan squatted and pet the creature, examining him. He was well-fed because the scavenging little bastard had the smell of a rotting carcass on his breath. The seeds and burrs stuck in his fur told the story of a long journey, there were seed pods from desert plants and some pungent leaves from trees that grew only in the marshlands, and a few berries from a bush he knew only grew in the frozen north.

"There's sand in his paws," he observed, "Not the silt from the riverside, dry sand, like... he must have gotten fairly far north to have hit desert."

"Then I guess you know where to go," Cullygan said, "At least the dog seems to. Been trying to get me to follow him since I ran into him this morning."

"Good boy," Keowan said, praising the hound. The hope that he'd kept kindled in his breast roared into a fire. _If the dog's alive, his mistress must be as well. He may even know where to find her._ The dog then opened his mouth, and a very strange thing fell out.

"What in the hells is that?" the captain asked. The navigator went to pick it up, and it felt almost insubstantial, as though it were only barely part of this world.

"It looks like a chipmunk," he said.

"Chipmunks aren't translucent," Cullygan said, looking very unsettled.

"But it looks like a chipmunk," said the navigator. Indeed it did look like a dead chipmunk, but it had not the weight of the corpse of a rodent, nor was it brown and furry. It was very light, and it shimmered in the noonday sun, "Gods damn it all, Addie would know what it was."

"If she were here, we wouldn't be concerned with where the dog had come from that he found this," Cullygan said.

"Who would know?" asked Keowan.

"There are sailors from all over Faerun aboard my boat," Cullygan said.

Never squeamish about these things, Keowan put the little corpse in his pocket, and they returned to the ship. The two Thayans on the crew had no idea what it was. Indeed, nobody did, except for the one crew member that Keowan had no interest in talking to - the Rashemi sailor that he'd found in bed with Addie a month or two after they'd joined the ship. Considering that they were stuck together on a damned ship, he'd done a good job of avoiding the lad for two full years. They exchanged words only when necessary, and the sailor was quite aware that if he so much as looked at the navigator sideways, he was apt to go missing in the next storm. If anything, the fact that he still lived had more to do with the shanty-woman's intercession on his behalf than any pity on the part of the navigator.

"Sandr," the captain said, addressing Rashemi by name. He approached them cautiously, still evidently terrified of Keowan, "Do you know what that is?"

Keowan took the little corpse out of his pocket and tossed it to Sandr, who caught it, and immediately grimaced in disgust when he saw what it was.

"That's a dead Telthor," Sandr said, "They've got them all over the place at home."

"Where's home?" asked Keowan.

"Village on the southeast coast of Lake Mulsantir," Sandr replied, "But they're all over Rashemen. Can't tell you where this one's home was. Or how long it's been dead. They don't rot like normal creatures."

Keowan nodded, "Thanks, mate." He turned and went to leave. _She's in Rashemen. Or that's as far as Davy tracked her. Either way, I have an idea of where to start._

"Um, you're welcome... mate," Sandr replied, "What do I do with... this?" he asked, gingerly holding up the corpse.

"Whatever you want," Keowan replied. He had to keep himself from grinning like at idiot as he walked down the gangplank. A few gold and trading in town got him out of the light clothes that did him well on ship and into the dark leather armor he had become accustomed to while he'd been a woodsman and exchanged the short bow, useful for close range combat, for a long one that packed much more of a punch - in places were there was enough room to use found a reasonably priced tent and bedroll, and various sundries he remembered needing in the life e'd lead before. As the sun went down that day, the navigator turned ranger set out from the Port of Escalant.

He and the dog made camp along a minor tributary several miles north of town that evening. He wasn't used to that much walking any more. In his excitement, he'd entirely forgotten to pace himself, and he could tell that he would wake up with aching muscles the next day. Exhausted, he fell asleep beside the fire not long after sundown.

* * *

><p>He was at Crossroad Keep. It was wintertime, the snow laying in deep drifts along against the stone walls of the castle and courtyard buildings. He was trying to track someone, he wasn't sure who, but the many feet of the keep's residence had made a muddy turmoil of any tracks that might have been left. He entered the keep. Kyla was sitting on the grand throne in the hall, the wolf Karnwyr by her side. Karnwyr, Davy's mother, had breathed her last at the respectable age of twelve, not long before they had departed the Sword Coast for the Shining Sea.<p>

Kyla said nothing when he walked through the door, but she smiled slyly and pointed to the stairs. He nodded to her, understanding that whomever he was looking for could be found up there.

He climbed the spiral staircase, feeling an odd sense of dread. He reached the top, and opened the heavy wooden door that took him to the castle walls. I've done this before, he thought, and I didn't like what I found, did I... He walked out on to the castle walls, and he saw Addie there, in the arms of the paladin Casavir. _He shouted to her, but she could not hear him. He's dead, he's dead just like Kyla and Karnwyr. You saw his corpse, Bishop, his body all crushed and lifeless underneath the stone; you know that this is a dream._ He walked up to them, and they only stood there, moving very slowly or not at all, looking into each other's eyes. He put a hand out, and touched the side of Addie's face gently. Her skin was warm to the touch, but she was so still...

_If this is a dream, you can make him go away._ He turned to Casavir. _Go on then,_ he willed, _Go off to whatever dark part of my subconscious brought you here._ The paladin started moving, all of a sudden. He winked at Bishop, and disentangled himself from Adahni's arms. The girl still stood there, her arms outstretched, frozen.

The paladin gave a jerky little bow then, but when he rose, he was not the paladin at all. He was a very odd-looking man, young and handsome, but with a strange bluish tinge to his skin. It was as though he'd been wearing the paladin's body as a mask, and as soon as Bishop interacted with him, it had fallen away and he could see his real form underneath.

"Who in the hells are you?" Bishop demanded, suddenly dreadfully unsettled, striding forward. The blue man only winked again, turned, climbed over the parapet, and jumped from the walls. Bishop rushed after and looked down for some crushed corpse. Instead, the man had landed on his feet, and was dancing down the path in the courtyard out of view.

All of a sudden, he was hit from behind, and went tumbling over the wall. He managed to look behind him before he hit the ground, and he saw that it was Addie who had pushed him, and she was waving a sorrowful farewell.

* * *

><p>He awoke in a cold sweat in the bluish light of early dawn. He lay there for a few moments, breathing heavily. <em>Just a dream, Bishop, just a dream. Get up and go on about your business.<em> He lit a smoke and started rolling up his bedroll. It was a long journey to Mulsantir, and dwelling on dreams would do nothing to aid him on it.


	12. Can't Have it Both Ways

_Sixteen years ago, Barnslow, Luskan Territory_

* * *

><p>"With the old wizard slain, the fair maiden came down from her tower. She ran to the youth, her hair shining in the sunset, and threw herself into his arms. 'What took you so long to rescue me?' she asked, looking up at him with sparkling eyes. 'Why,' the youth said, 'I had no idea you were waiting for me.' 'I always have been,' the maiden replied…"<p>

A scream issued from the next room. Kyrwan tensed in his Mum's arms, jerking his eyes away from the pages of the storybook, where fine illustrations showed a lovely blackhaired woman in the arms of a rugged young man. He felt Mum's arms tighten around him. Involuntarily, he started trembling.

"Stop!" his sister screamed, her voice high and hysterical through the thin wood of the wall, "I didn't, I swear, I…"

"Bitch!" father's voice came, "You little whore, I'll teach you to make a fool out of me in front of the entire town!"

There was a crash. He knew that crash. It was the sound of the oil lamp falling from the shelf where it sat and hitting the wood floor. He heard it often, probably around once a week. Whenever Dad got angry at Kyla.

"What's Dad angry about?" he asked.

"Your sister's been naughty," she said, "She gets a beating when she's been naughty, just like you."

"But Kyla's a grown-up," Kyrwan said, "Grown-ups aren't naughty."

"Some grown-ups are very naughty," Mother said.

"_No!_" the shriek came from the other side of the wall. Her voice became distorted. That's what happens when someone puts his hands around your throat. Kyrwan had tried it once, on the family cat. The cat had yowled, but it had come out garbled and strangled. He'd thrown the cat down, afraid that he'd killed it, but it had run off. It never came within ten feet of him again.

"I don't believe you," he said, "I don't think Kyla's been naughty at all." He felt a rush of adrenaline, felt his limbs trembling with excitement. He'd never said anything like that before. _Disobeying Mum, _he thought. There was no going back now, "I think Dad is a bad man. He oughtn't hit her like that."

"Hush now, wicked child!" Mum said, smacking his wrist lightly.

"No!" Kyrwan shouted, "It's _not _right. What did she do?"

"That is _none _of your business, child! Now just for that, I won't finish my story, and you'll go to bed without any supper."

"Why can't you _stop _him?" Kyrwan shrieked. He seized the book from her hands and threw it to the floor where the sound echoed, much louder than he had thought it would.

"Stop it!" Mum shouted, raising her hand to strike him. Kyrwan struck out first, sending one tiny fist into her stomach like he'd learned to do with the boys who tried to beat him up. She doubled over. He felt badly for a moment, but Kyla screamed again from the next room. He ran as fast as he could into the next room – it had been a storage room, but Kyla had moved her bed and things there when Kyrwan was old enough to have his own space.

Kyla was bent over her bed, her bodice undone to her waist, her back lined with red and trickling blood from where Dad had hit her with his belt. He had lifted his hand back to strike her again when Kyrwan rushed in and grabbed the buckle end, winding his hand around it. The force of the blow lifted him clean off the ground. Dad turned around and saw what had grabbed on to his weapon. His face was red, his eyes blazed nearly yellow with rage, as he saw his younger child.

"Stop it! Stop it!" he cried, "She's bleeding! You're _hurting _her!"

Dad wheeled around, and loosed his grip on the belt. Kyrwan gathered it up and held it in front of him, as though it would shield him from the beating that was surely coming. Dad got up right in his face. He could smell the whiskey on his breath. Some of the boys in town said the drink made their dads mean. The drink made Dad mean sometimes, but all in all the man was downright unpredictable.

"Poor little bastard," Dad said, putting his hand on Kyrwan's head. Dad was not a big man, but he had large hands, and he could cup his six-year-old son's. He squeezed his fingers into his skull, and Kyrwan was afraid for a moment that his head would pop like an egg.

_Don't cry, _Kyrwan told himself, _Don't cry. Don't cry. _He screwed up his face, made his angry eyes, and he did not cry.

"Poor little bastard," Dad said again. He loosed his grip on his son's head, slapped him soundly across the face, and walked out into the kitchen to fetch himself another whiskey.

Kyrwan ran to Kyla and threw himself onto her, trying to cover up her bleeding back with his small body. She was crying, quietly, not sobbing like she did sometimes. She reached up over her shoulder and pulled him around her body and into her arms, tucking her torn bodice between them. He held her head in his arms.

"Why did Mum say you were being naughty?" he asked her.

"He doesn't want me to get married," Kyla said, wiping her eyes with one bloody hand. It left a rusty streak across her pale skin.

Kyrwan's heart went cold and he felt the cold pain of betrayal, much stronger than that in his still-smarting face, "Why do you want to get married? Are you in love?"

Kyla extricated herself from his arms and tried to pull him into her lap. He wriggled out, and sat down next to her on the bed. He was six years old. Far too old to sit in his sister's lap, though that was what he wanted more than anything. She looked him in the face. They had the same color eyes, light brown. The same color eyes as Dad, though they were much prettier in Kyla's face than his.

"No," she said, "I'm not. But he'll take me away."

"You want to leave me?" he asked.

"No, of course not," Kyla said. This time, he let her lift him into her lap. She held him tight and leaned her head on the top of his, "I'd never leave you."

He saw the light flicker, as Mum approached the door. She watched them for a moment, her face inscrutable.

"You can't have it both ways, you know," Mum said, watching them, arms akimbo.

"Leave us alone, Mum," Kyla said.


	13. Small Indignities

They arrived back at the Veil theater as Magda and the rest of the actors were removing the bodies of red wizards and stacking them in the street.

"Are you just going to leave those there?" Adahni asked, looking down at the bodies. Flies were buzzing around their mouths and they gave off a certain stench that reminded her of Luskan in high summer.

"The corpse collectors will be 'round in moment, no need to worry," the dwarf said cheerily, "It's all arranged. Now… are you going to bring that in here?" She pointed past Gann and Adahni to Okku, who was bringing up the rear, "Though I suppose he could take care of the body problem…"

"That's disgusting," Okku replied, looking down at the corpses and covering his nose with one massive paw.

"We need to know about Lienna," Adahni said, waving a fly out of her face.

"She's barely cold," Magda said, "Or what's left of her. That's a fresh wound you're poking your finger into. We were all very fond of the White Lady here, and her death grieves us sorely." She looked more angry than aggrieved, in Adahni's opinion. The dwarf woman had been friendly – or as friendly as one might be when one's place of business was under attack – but now she was downright stand-offish. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"It would be a fine world where the exigencies of the moment waited until our sadnesses had faded," Adahni said, trying to be tactful, "Unfortunately, the one in which we live has no time to wait for us to mourn."

"Aye, you speak the truth. But, first things first," Magda said, wiping two rusty streaks of gore on her pants and walking purposefully up to Adahni. She was tall for a dwarf, and Adahni was short for a human, and so they could look each other in the eye without too much trouble. Adahni looked blankly into Magda's intense dark gaze for a moment, wondering what on earth she was up to.

"Can I help you with something?" Adahni asked, averting her eyes first.

"You're Adahni Farishta, aren't you," Magda said, "You're that Neverese hero that Atrun Hadge is directing the play about down at the…" the dwarf took a moment and sniffed her disdain. The sniff was accompanied by a nose full of rotting flesh, and she made a face. Composing herself, she continued, "Sloop. Yes, word's all over town about you. And your story. If you are, indeed, who you say you are."

"I don't feel the need to prove myself to you or anyone else," she said, "For all you know I could be any seabound twat with a Neverese accent blown in off the lake and nobody would know the difference, would they."

"Well you'll need to prove something to me," Magda said, "Or I'll tell you exactly nothing about the rooms beyond the rooms. They say Adahni Farishta perished underneath the Mere of Dead Men. Oh yes, I watch their rehearsals and I know the tale. Rashemen is awash in people claiming that they are some lost princess from a kingdom fallen to revolution or some deposed nobleman whom everyone knows was executed. But all the stir you're causing is taking attention away from our production and turning it towards those talentless hacks at the Sloop. So tell, if you are who you say you are, how did you survive?"

"You say you know the story?" Adahni asked, "Then you know of the traitor Bishop."

"Yes, yes. The play is entitled the Betrayal of the Knight, after all."

"He saved me," she said, feeling no need to play the bard to this woman. This woman who ran a theater would have none of her tricks anyway.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Magda asked, "And I suppose next you'll tell me that a band of animated gargoyles made off with you and dumped you in the vicinity of Mulsantir?"

"Now that's just silly," Safiya remarked, "Please, we need your help, Magda."

"While this impostor is taking attention away from my spectacle and drawing it to the low-born, ill-educated rabble at the Sloop?" Magda countered.

Adahni was sweaty, and despite being full from her feast upon the spirits, in dreadfully low spirits herself, as one might imagine someone who had just found out about a rather life-threatening curse that had been cast upon her.

"Well then, if you know the story, then you know of the Shard of the Silver Sword?" Adahni asked.

"Yes. Coincidentally, it also figures quite heavily into the play that my eminently more talented troupe is putting on," Magda said.

"And how the fragment of sword was embedded in her – in my – chest?" Adahni said.

"Yes…"

"I have it on good authority that someone in those rooms beyond rooms has tried to remove it," she said.

"From your chest?"

Adahni had been fiddling idly with the clasps on her vest. Unable to resist the urge to be dramatic, she pulled it apart, revealing her bare chest, and the barely healing wounds between her breasts, the deliberate, deep, knife wounds, stitched together with ugly black stitches. Magda, completely unfazed, approached her even closer and examined it. Thankfully, she refrained from poking at it, though Adahni was sure that it was not tact that made her do so.

She heard Kaelyn gasp to one side, and Gannayev murmur, "Oh my…" to the other.

"Oh, Gods," Safiya groaned, and hid her face in her hands in chagrin, "I cannot believe you just did that."

"So if you are satisfied," Adahni said, ignoring the red wizard and speaking to Magda, putting her hands on her hips while her open blouse and vest fluttered in the breeze, "I would dearly love to have any information you might have with regards to who in the hells did this to me!"

"For the Gods' sake, Addie, put your shirt on!" Safiya hissed.

"Oh shut up, it's not like you've never seen tits before," Adahni said, turning sharply.

"I'm not sure that Gann has," the red wizard whispered in response.

"Don't get used to it, hagspawn," Adahni said, and took the wizard's advice, re-clasping the front of her vest and buttoning her blouse on top of it.

"Interesting," Magda said. She fished into the pocket of her pants and produced a key, "Lienna… she had been acting strange of late. Distracted, always rushing between the planes. And once… once she showed up, her white robes all spattered with red, like she'd just butchered a pig. A woman was with her, she looked like she might have been her sister, all bald like an old man and wearing red, like these poor bastards here," she kicked one of the dead red wizards contemptuously. The body let loose a pocket of gas. "Yes," she said, looking at Adahni, but not in the eye, "Like she'd butchered a pig. Or cut into the breast of a living person…" The dwarf fell silent, "Either way, you'll need this." She dug into her pocket and produced a brass key, "It opens the closet in her studio. That's the only thing that's locked back there, as far as I know. I admit, I've been too scared to go in there myself."

Adahni took the key, warm from the dwarf's pocket, and went into the Veil, where the actors were scrubbing blood from the boards of the stage. They were making some progress, you had to give them credit, considering how disgustingly filthy the place had been. They picked their way through them and back into Lienna's chamber. This time, paying proper attention, Adahni saw that the floor was covered in tiny specks of blood. She stood there, staring at them.

"Thinking that might be yours, my lemming?" Gann asked, appearing at her elbow.

"Nah," she said, "I'm thinking about the lovely chicken stew I'm going to eat this evening." She brushed past him. She seized his hand, and he seized, Safiya's, who took Kaelyn's, who grabbed Okku by the scruff of the neck, and through the portal the five of them went. The smell of blood was palpable this time. Adahni went to the closet door, and inserted the key. It swung open under her touch, and she half expected some sort of monster to jump out at her. Rather, it opened onto a corridor.

"Some closet," murmured Safiya, and followed her through.

At the end of the hall was a stone room that did not appear to be a part of the wooden Veil theater, or indeed, a part of the same world. The four corners of the room house runic circles, though Adahni did not recognize the runes. She did, however, recognize the odd, shimmering anomalies in the middle of them.

"They look like Illefarne song portals," she said, remembering the portal high on the hill in the ruins of Arvahn. The memory of it, and how it shimmered under the sunny skies, gave her a sudden pang of homesickness. Even among the death and destruction that had haunted her footsteps there, there had been moments of such pure beauty.

"They're Imaskari portals," Safiya corrected, "Same concept, different triggers. The Illefarne used song. The Imaskar created guardians, who could open and close the portals at will."

"You sure know a lot about this," Adahni muttered.

"They're not Imaskari," Kaelyn corrected her. She had walked up to one of the portals. Adahni could smell the unmistakable scent of the sea, ever so slightly, around it, "These were created recently, perhaps using the same type of spell. But these are new." She put her hand up to the sea portal, and Adahni saw a slight glow as she made contact with it, "It's been cut off. It's dead."

"Do you suppose whoever made this would have made a guardian as well?" Safiya asked the celestial.

"Well if not, what is this?" Okku rumbled from the corner, where stood, half concealed in the shadows, a golem, still and silent.

Safiya and Kaelyn, each eager to prove their superior knowledge, rushed up to it.

"It's clay, and it's been dead for awhile," Kaelyn said.

"It may work on the power of spirits," Safiya suggested, "Adahni, come here."

"What do you want me to do…?" Adahni asked, approaching suspiciously.

"You're a spirit eater," Safiya said, "Can't you like… give him some spirit?"

"You mean…" Adahni asked.

"I'm not sure that that's how it works…" Gann said, "Though I suppose it's worth a try."

"It wouldn't be the first undignified thing you've done today," Kaelyn said.

Safiya reached into the golem's hollow torso and took out a small, black sphere, that glowed dully. She handed it to Adahni.

"I don't know what you want me to…" she looked at her companions, "Oh Gods, you can't be serious."

"You're a spirit eater," Safiya said, "You eat spirits. Can't you, you know, un-eat one or two?"

"All of you turn around," Adahni said, "If this doesn't work the way I think it will, then we're going to have a mess on our hands and I'm not going to be the one to clean it up."

She sat down in the corner, the small sphere in her hand.

_Rotting corpses. _She thought. _Dead fish with their eyes all glazed over. Karnwyr's farts. Entrails spilling from opened wounds. _She felt her stomach lurch and reel. In the old days, she would have just stuck her finger down her throat and just been done with it, but she had the feeling that the spirits she had consumed with her spirit-eating mouth didn't go down to the same place as her normal breakfast had. Then again, the logic of trying to nauseate herself into giving up some of the essence made little sense if you thought about it too carefully. _Grobnar having sex, _she thought.

That did it. She felt a heave within her, though not her corporeal stomach, and she spat out the shimmering essence of a spirit she had sucked down earlier.

_Torio Claven naked. _She did it again, letting the essence pour from her mouth and pool on the dark sphere, which gradually began to light up. She picked it up, and found that it had absorbed the disgorged essence fully and was not slimy and disgusting as it would have been. She handed it to Safiya, who replaced it in the golem's thoracic cavity.

The golem creaked slowly, and woke up. It opened two glowing eyes and cast about, taking in the strange group before it.

"First door. Incoming," it groaned, "Second door. Containment. Third door. Disposal. Fourth door. Outgoing."

"Outgoing where?" Adahni asked.

"Incoming," the golem said.

"No, outgoing where?" Adahni asked.

"Incoming," the golem replied.

"Damn thing's broken."

"No, not quite…" Kaelyn said, pointing.

Adahni followed her finger to the portal that had smelled of the sea. It was open now, and through it, Adahni could see the waves of the Sea of Fallen Stars. That is, she would have been able to, if it had not been blocked by the dark figures of four gargoyles. They were breathing, though seemingly made of stone. She remembered similar creatures guarding the valley that housed Ammon Jerro's haven.

"Can I help you?" she asked.

"You live," the leader said, "Impressive. You were hard to find. Took us nearly two years, it did… and here you were, in our own back yard."

"Too bad she didn't have what Mistress was looking for," the second gargoyle said.

"Indeed she didn't," the leader said, "Which is why she told us to leave her to die, didn't she."

"Who is your mistress?" asked Adahni, "Why was she after the shard?"

"We are not privy to such things," the gargoyle leader said.

"It's not with me," Adahni said, "I carved it from my own chest, threw it over the falls somewhere in Neverwinter. Good luck finding it."

"Oh, we tracked it down," the gargoyles said, "All buried in silt at the bottom of a river. Such a waste. Too bad you had to be brought here before we realized where it was."

"How did they know where it was?" Adahni asked.

"You told them," the gargoyle said, "Or… your dreams did. While you slept – or were kept sleeping here – the red and the white twins went to the Slumbering Coven. It is there that they were told all they needed to know. It is there that they walked through your dreams to the cliff in Neverwinter, where they saw you open yourself and cast it forth. It is there that they learned the secrets…"

"What secrets?"

The gargoyles looked at each other furtively, "You have been cursed, as have we," they said, "To walk the world wearing a mask that does not resemble your face. The curse is one of these secrets that they learned there, in the Slumbering Coven. And that is all we know."

"All you know, hm?" Adahni asked.

"Outgoing," the golem announced. To her right a portal opened, and the gargoyles scampered through. The portal shut soundly behind them but just before it did, Adahni caught a glimpse of a cliff, high above Neverwinter town. The remnants of a camp stood there, a crumbling hut made of pine boughs, a pit where a fire once had been lit. _I lived there for more than a month, _she thought, _It was our first home. _

"What in the hells just happened?" she muttered.

"Well, the mystery of how you got here has been somewhat clarified, wouldn't you say?" Safiya said.

She walked up to the incoming portal, which remained open. Through it, she saw the banks of the Lapendrar river, the sea grasses where she had layed her wounded head on the night of the typhoon. She walked up to it, and tried to reach through, but was rebuked by a sharp pain to her hand.

"That is an _incoming _door," the golem said, "Please refrain."

Adahni rolled her eyes and stuck her hand in her mouth to nurse the slight burn that appeared there, "Fucking technicalities," she muttered.


	14. Paddling Your Own Canoe

They exited the rooms beyond rooms the way they had come in, back through the mirrors of Lienna's chambers and back through the looking glass with its yawning black portal. Back in the dull, but colored, plane, they made their way back through the theatre. Without a word, Safiya summoned magics from her fingertips, small threads of white that wound their way around the large auditorium and, picking up the bloodstains from the floorboards and walls, and spiriting them away. The actors stood and watched, openmouthed, as the red wizard restored the room to new.

"Well Gods," she heard one of them mutter, "Could have done that before…"

The five of them regrouped outside of the theater.

"Does anyone hear know what the Slumbering Coven is?" asked Adahni. Four pairs of eyes turned to Gannayev, who had been oddly silent the whole way.

"I have seen it often," he said, and his voice was thick with some kind of emotion, "In my dreams. A city, half submerged, along the shores of Lake Mulsantir to the south."

"Oh!" Kaelyn exclaimed, "Coveya Kurg'annis. Yes, I know of what you speak."

"Yes, that is its name," Gann said.

"It's impossible to access," Kaelyn said skeptically, "You'd have to go through so many layers of reality to access the ones in which the hags dwell, it would drive most people mad."

"We are not most people, my dove," Gann said, "It would not be such a hardship, I think. We have walked in and out of the Shadow plane more than once in the past few days."

"It is not the journey to the Shadow plane that concerns me," Kaelyn said, "It is to walk into the dreams that the hags – the Slumbering Coven – have woven. You see, Addie, the hags have created an awesome – some would say terrible – magic. They exist only in the dream world now. Their dream contains the wisdom of ages."

Gann looked exceedingly uncomfortable as Kaelyn spoke for some time of the extent and power of the hags' dreams.

"And you see, once you have entered their dream, as you have, they may look into you, into you r very depths and depths beyond depths," the cleric concluded, her black eyes betraying no emotion.

"Depths beyond depths," Adahni mused, "Do you suppose the hags will know what's happened?"

"I am sure of it," Kaelyn said, "But are you willing to subject yourself to that sort of scrutiny? You are a woman with secrets. And it is not unheard of for a person to go in to a hearing with the Slumbering Coven and come out stark raving mad – or a drooling imbecile."

Adahni shrugged, "I'm a woman with a very short life at this point."

"I suggest we speak with the wychlaren," Okku piped up, "There may be other, less dangerous, ways to learn about the curse of the spirit eater. I am not the only old god of the land."

"What are you getting at, Okku?" Adahni asked.

"Rashemen is awash in creatures like me. I am, of course, one of the more powerful and majestic. There are others, though, and it would not be unheard of for the ones who yet survive to have fought with a carrier of the curse and lived. They may know things that are of use to you," Okku said.

"That is a spectacular piece of deduction, that!" Gann said, excitedly, happy to get the attention of the group off of the Slumbering Coven, "Of course! A land like Rashemen, with spirits everywhere, _someone _must have encountered a spirit eater!"

"We should ask the hathran Sheva Whitefeather," Okku said, "You've done her a service, banishing me from her gate."

"Do you think she'd think that way if I brought her from the gate to her living room?" Adahni asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We'd best meet her at the temple then," Okku said, and added snidely, "Good gods, I'm a bear. I might mess on the rug."

The five of them made their way up the steep path. Adahni had to admit as they mounted the hill, that Mulsantir was quite a pretty town, nestled into the cliffs along the harbor as though it had grown there. The temple, too, was tasteful. Barely a temple at all, just some stone arches set into the ground with statues of the three: Chauntea, Mielikki, and Mystra. They were carved much in the way their cults in Neverwinter portrayed them, though where the Neverese statues showed them with wide, smiling faces, the Rashemi ones showed them stern. Still, Chauntea held her rose in one hand and a sheaf of grain in the others, Mielikki still held her scimitar high, and Mystra still held the band of cloth that represented the weave above her head. Sheva sat, serene and meditating, in the center of them.

One of her assistants – the younger wychlaren who had exhibited such a bad humor earlier – cleared her throat to rouse her mistress. Sheva's eyes snapped open behind her mask, and she rose, surprisingly spryly for such an old woman.

"I see you have tamed Old King Bear," Sheva said, her eyes flitting across the companions to Okku.

"Tamed implies ownership, Whitefeather," Okku rumbled, "I have simply chosen to follow this one's path for some time."

"She must be an extraordinary being," Sheva said, her eyes darting back to Adahni.

"She is," Okku said, "Though through no fault of her own. She appears to be afflicted with the Curse of the Spirit Eater."

There was silence for a moment, and Adahni saw the blood rush out from under Sheva's skin. If she had been of a lighter complexion, she supposed Sheva probably would have gone white. As it was, her skin took on a sallow color that betrayed her shock and – was it fear?

"Well we can't have that, can we," Sheva finally said, looking Adahni up and down.

"We were wondering if you knew of any spirits of the land who had fought the Spirit Eater before," Adahni said, "Okku has. That's why he follows me now – he fought and was defeated by one of my predecessors and now has sworn to help me defeat the curse."

"Defeating a spirit eater curse," mused Sheva, putting one gnarled hand to her chin in thought.

"That's ridiculous," her assistant piped up, "Best thing to do is get your affairs in order, stranger, say goodbye to those you love, and seal yourself in a crypt. You've no idea what misery you'll cause if you're left out in the open."

"Quiet, Kazi," Sheva scolded, "I know of one."

"You do?"

"The Wood Man," Sheva said, "Is what the peasants call him."

"I've heard of him," Adahni said, "Georg Redfell, one of my neighbors where I grew up, spoke of the Wood Man. And he's in books, of course."

"He lives – or lived – up in Ashenwood, a week's journey north along the lake. There is some trouble brewing there. The hathran stationed there outside the wood tell me of disturbances."

"How do I get there?" Adahni asked.

"Take one of the witch boats," Sheva said, "They are swift and sure, and I am hoping that perhaps you might quiet some of the rumblings I've been hearing. The Ashenwood is an ancient and dangerous place, and when things are out of alignment there, it affects the entire land. If you can set it to rights, perhaps you can coax the Wood Man out into the open to speak with you."

"Seems like an idea," Kaelyn said, "Better than subjecting ourselves to the prying minds of hags."

Gann said nothing, continuing in his uncharacteristic silence, though the words were plainly meant for him.

"Very well," Adahni said, "To Ashenwood it is. How do you feel about this, Safiya?" Safiya was the only one of her companions who had not expressed a preference for their next action. The red wizard stood there, her chin resting on her hand.

"I think both will be valuable sources of information," Safiya said after a moment of thought, "The Wood Man will be able to tell you more of the character of this curse, while the Slumbering Coven will tell you how you came by it in the first place. What I am concerned with, however, is the why of it all. I have a feeling that it's all connected, in some way, to what occurred in the rooms beyond rooms of the Veil Theatre. I believe the answer may lie there."

"I'm hoping that if we figure out the what of it first, I'll be able to keep it under control while we figure out the how, and the why, and the most important – the how the fuck to rid me of it," Adahni said.

"A wise choice," Safiya said, though she looked at Adahni rather skeptically.

"There is a witch boat down at the harbor," Sheva said, "Controlling it is rather intuitive, you shouldn't have much trouble."

"I have traveled by witch boat before," Gann said, "I will get us to Ashenwood safely."

"Thanks, Gann," Adahni said, "I know you would prefer to seek out the hags, but I feel…"

"No need to justify yourself to me, my lemming," he said, "You are, after all, the one with the soul-eating curse. The Slumbering Coven can wait."

"As can Ashenwood," Adahni said. The sun was still bright in the sky, but she could tell from its position that it would be going down in an hour or two. She was tired to her very bones, and the weight of her new knowledge felt as though it stopped her shoulders and tugged at her eyelids, "We all need a rest. I think we ought to go back to the Sloop, have a drink, and get some sleep. We can head for Ashenwood in the morning."

"Are you all right, Addie?" Safiya asked, darting up to her as the band made their way, two abreast, down the hill and back towards the water, "You seem to be tiring out awfully quickly. It doesn't make sense, you don't look like a weakling in the least."

Adahni looked up at her, "I don't know why, Safiya," she said, "And don't you think it worries me too?"

"Do you think it's the curse?" the red wizard asked.

"It must be," she said. She put her hands to her lower back, stretching, "I'm having aches I didn't used to have. Either this land is dragging me down, or I'm just getting old."

"You said yourself you're not yet thirty," Safiya protested.

"It's not the years, it's the mileage," Adahni quipped, lifting a phrase from an old drunk she'd once given a coin to.

Back at the Sloop, the four of them (Okku made the decision to depart for the city gates on the promise to meet them at the harbor in the morning) sat at the bar and exchanged stories. Kaelyn told a fairly interesting one about how she and her siblings had fought off some cultists of Cyric in the wildlands. Gann told a racy one about spying on the dreams of a noblewoman who was having an affair with one of her serving men. Finally, Safiya, who had been silent and deep into her cups, spoke up.

"I want to tell you a love story," she said. Her voice was a bit slurred, but mostly coherent.

"My favorite," Gann all but squealed.

"It was ten years ago. I was thirteen," the red wizard began, "The first time I met him. I'd lived at the academy my whole life, but thirteen was the age I was allowed to join the other students, living in the dormitories and attending classes. I was the spit and image of my mother, there was no hiding who I was…" she took another gulp of beer, "He was the only one who came to eat with me at the dining hall. Everyone else stayed away, afraid I'd go tattling on them… do you remember being thirteen? How awful it was to be alone?"

Adahni nodded.

"But he stayed with me, and he didn't care who I was… and then when I was fifteen he kissed me in one of the labs, we were supposed to be counting the mephits for one of the professor's experiments, but we…" Safiya's voice broke and her story ceased to make any kind of sense, "We were going to run away… together, when we were old enough. Get married, have a normal life, far away from the academy. And then…"

"And then what?" Adahni asked, putting a hand on the red wizard's shoulder.

"My mother had bidden me go to Rashemen around a year ago, and I did, but we met, before I left, made one more promise that when I returned we would do what we planned. I had been living, this whole time, with the hope in my breast that we would be reunited. And then, six months ago, I received a letter," Safiya said, "A mephit, one from the academy, delivered it to me. He wrote to me, and told me that it was over, that he had never loved me, and wished never to lay eyes on me again. I was confused, and wrote him back to ask his reasons. I received nothing in return. No explanation for what had happened, just that he hoped I would never return. I spent the time stewing in my hatred and vitriol for him… until we encountered him here, when he tried to kill me out in the rooms beyond rooms in the Gods damn Veil theatre. And now he's dead. Addie cut his head off. And when we were…"

"He betrayed you," Adahni said, the pronouncement poking at a very old wound.

"I don't know what happened to Khai in the year I was away," Safiya said, wiping her eyes carefully with one finger, not wanting to smudge the paint that covered her tattoos, "I barely recognized him, the look in his eye was alien, foreign. He mocked what we'd done like I meant nothing to him, as though all of our promises were unimportant. I was impudent to him, insulting, just like I had dreamed of all the ways I would take him down a peg when we next found each other… but I still need to know why."

"Do you think we will find the answer to that as well?" Kaelyn asked, her voice gentle and cooing.

"I don't know," Safiya said, "It must have something to do with Araman. Someone there, at the academy, must have turned him against me. For what reason I do not know, though I suspect it has something to do with my mother. I just… I can't just accept that he did that to me of his own accord."

"What if the answer you find is that he did?" Adahni asked.

"I don't know," Safiya said, "But I can't help but have the feeling that Khai is all tangled up in this, like you are, and Okku is. It all seems to point to some singular event in the distance. Once we figure that out, I think the knot will come unraveled." She took another draught of beer, and put her tankard down. She looked at it a moment, and announced, "I'm drunk. I should go to bed before I run at the mouth any more."

"Would that the rest of us were wise enough to do the same," Adahni said as Safiya pushed some coins across the bar to pay for her drinks, and took back off to their room.

"Nonsense," Gann said, "That story's gotten me depressed. Who's for another round? And a song, Addie! A cheerful one."

Adahni smiled, and obliged. Safiya was not a master storyteller, but her story was troubling all the same. A song to lift their moods could only do good. She racked her brain, thinking of one that was not silly, but fun all the same. She settled upon a tune she'd heard an old northman from Kuldahar sing along the docks in Neverwinter. He was a cripple, and he played upon the tin whistle alternating with his singing and beat on a drum with his elbow. She'd given him a full gold coin and a job as an informant for the watch to have him teach her songs while she was there, and one that he'd sung came to mind now. She beat a rhythm on the table and sang a few verses.

_I've travelled about a bit in me time, of troubles I've seen a few__  
><em>_I found it far better in every clime to paddle me own canoe_

_Me wants they are small I care not at all, me debts they are paid when due__  
><em>_I drive away strife from the ocean of life and paddle me own canoe_

_And I have no wife to bother me life, no lover to prove untrue__  
><em>_The whole day long I laugh with the song and paddle me own canoe_

_It's all very well to depend on a friend, that is if you proved him true__  
><em>_You'll find it better by far in the end to paddle your own canoe_

_To borrow is dearer by far than to buy, a saying though old still true__  
><em>_You never will sigh if you only will try to paddle your own canoe_

_And I have no wife to bother me life, no lover to prove untrue__  
><em>_The whole day long I laugh with the song and paddle me own canoe_

"What's a canoe?" asked Gann.

"It's a boat. Like a rowboat, only long and narrow and liable to capsize more easily," Adahni said, "When I was a kid, in spring when the ice melted, the traders would load them up and paddle through the Mere to the towns on the other side. No matter how shallow the water, it seemed like they just skittered right across it like waterbugs."

"You come from a strange place," Gann said, trying to picture what it was she was talking about.

"So do you," Adahni replied, "And I imagine I'll be seeing more of it on the morrow. But for now…"

"Time for a dream," Gann said, grinning.

"I'll thank you to stay out of _mine, _hagspawn," Kaelyn said sternly.

"Oh no worries there, my dove. Your dreams are entirely too pious to be of any interest to me," he said, "Our dear Addie, on the other hand…"

"Don't even think about it," Adahni said. She retreated into the room she shared with Safiya and pulled the covers over her. Outside, she heard Gann skipping down the hallway, whistling the tune about the canoe. She smiled inwardly, and closed her eyes.


	15. Starcrossed

The first thing Bishop noticed about the village of Jazareen was that it reminded him of home. Well, not precisely. It didn't remind him of the village of Barnslow where he was born, but it reminded him of his father's barn. The smell of animal blood running into the earth and staying there to rot, despite repeated attempts to rise it from the soil, pervaded the air. It smelled like any butcher's yard, really, but the whole village stank of it. He made his way to an inn and procured a room for the night. Dropping his pack in the foot locker by his bunk, he returned to the city center.

He had noticed the dress change as he'd moved further north along the river. The women of the cities in Thay tended to either shave their heads, or cover their hair with colorful scarves tucked under their chins. Here in Karkovr, further towards the city of Thaymount, they were a bit less modest, tying their scarves behind their ears, leaving their chins and necks bare and showing off large, flashy earrings. He looked like a stranger among them, a sunburned, pale-skinned stranger among the black-haired swarthy Thayans. There was no blending in.

Across from the inn was a bar – really just a table set up along the side of the street so that the workmen could drink their beer quickly and return to their trades. It was midafternoon, and so the workmen were all back in their shops or sleeping off their lunchtime ale, and the only person there was a grizzled old man, the part of his face not covered in snow-white beard was a web of wrinkles.

"Good afternoon, Uncle," he said. The Thayans called every old man uncle. It was considered impolite to call an elder by his name. These were things that Addie had taught him to notice, as he had taught her to notice broken branches and footprints.

"It's a son of a bitch of an afternoon!" the old man cried. Bishop recoiled as the scent of his breath – garlic on top of alcohol on top of more garlic – hit him full in the face.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Uncle," said Bishop, "What happened?" He signaled the bartender to bring him an ale, and another one for the old man.

"Don't call me Uncle. My name is Abu-Nisah. Uncle is a term of endearment, and there's none that are dear to me anymore," the old man said. He drank deeply, and looked back at Bishop through red-rimmed green eyes. " That rat bastard son of a dog Hayat has stolen my granddaughter," he said, taking a final pull on his ale, and taking the one that Bishop got from him, "My sweet Shiren."

"Forgive me, Abu-Nisah," Bishop said, "I am quite new in town. Who is Hayat?"

"Hayat Ensaan, the mayor's son. Not like being mayor of the Village of Butchers is any kind of great gods-damn honor," the old man said, "It just means you get to watch others get blood under their nails and cow shit on their feet and not have to do it yourself, but you still have to smell it!"

"Ah, I see," Bishop said, "This is the Village of Butchers?"

"Kiria Jazareen is its proper name," the Abu-Nisah said, "Or Jazareen, but it's the Village of Butchers. The herdsmen from the steppes around bring their horses and oxen for the slaughter. They pay us in gold to do their dirty work for them. Those barbarians think of their animals as one in the family, they cannot bear to lift a knife to them themselves. And so it falls to us. It is how my father made his living, and his father before him."

"My father was a butcher as well," Bishop said, truthfully.

"Ah, so you know something of us," Abu-Nisah said, "Not such a stranger, despite your complexion. Where are you from?"

"Kuldahar," he replied.

"And what is your name, son?"

"Keowan Kylassen," he said.

"I'm not going to begin to try to pronounce that," Abu-Nisah said, taking another drink, "But you seem like a nice boy. A real man, with hands calloused from work. Tell me, Keo- Keo-…. son, are you a butcher like your father?"

"I'm nothing like my father," Bishop said, "I'm a hunter."

"Same thing," Abu-Nisah said, hiccupping, "You end the life of gentle creatures to feast upon their flesh. But it is an honorable trade, that of the huntsman. I'm sure your father is proud of you."

Bishop gave a short, barking laugh that indicated he was not, indeed, terribly amused by this.

"I never had a son, only daughters," Abu-Nisah said, "And all of them dead and gone. Hawa died before her first birthday of the fever. Ashreen was run over by an oxcart when she was three. Leyla was killed by raiders from the river. Only Yasmin lived to adulthood. She gave me my sweet Shiren, and died in the process…"

"Your granddaughter."

"My granddaughter," Abu-Nisah said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

"What happened?"

"You know how rich men are," the old man said, "They think they can have anything they want, just because they have the means to pay for it. Hayat offered me gold for Shiren's hand in marriage. Shiren refused. She did not love him."

"You would not be the first father to sell his daughter's hand in marriage," Bishop said, mildly.

"I have lost four daughters," Abu-Nisah said, "And my wife. Do you think I would sell my only granddaughter to be unhappy for the rest of her days?"

"No, sir."

"I had arranged a marriage for her that was agreeable to everyone involved. To Rafa, the boatman's son. They were fond of each other, and Rafa was willing to take over my business when my hands become too arthritic to skin a cow. And then Hayat came, all in the night, and stole her. His men held scimitars to my throat. I would have rather died than let Shiren go with them, but she begged and pleaded for my life, saying she would do anything he asked if they would spare me. And they stole her."

"You say that Hayat Ensaan is a rich man?" Bishop said, raising his eyebrows.

"He's bought a force of fifty herdsman to protect his manor, where he lives in luxury while the rest of us wade through rivers of animal blood in the street," Abu-Nisah said, "So you see my dilemma. I am cursed to spend the rest of my days alone, no great-grandchildren to lighten my step, the only person who has not left me for the land of the dead is locked behind walls of stone."

"And what would happen to the village if Hayat was brought down, say, hypothetically, if a gang of thieves were to assault his household?"

"With my sweet Shiren inside?" Abu-Nisah exclaimed.

"Let's pretend she's brought back, and is safe with you," Bishop said.

"His household is set off from the village, across the river," Abu-Nisah said, "I doubt that anybody would notice, until Hayat failed to come around to collect taxes. I suppose… I suppose the village elders would have to elect a new mayor."

Bishop smiled, "And what you do if I brought back your granddaughter this very night?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"And if I did?" Bishop asked.

"I have no money to pay you," Abu-Nisah said. He thought a moment, "Well, I suppose _you _could marry Shiren…"

"I'm promised to another," Bishop said, "I ask nothing but information, on how to get into the house of Hayat Ensaan."

Abu-Nisah looked at him a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was low and gruff. "So, you are a hunter of men."

Bishop nodded.

"I see the gods have answered my prayers," the old man said, bowing his head, "Gods be praised. There is a way in. That arrogant prick has diverted the might river Lapendrar to flow around his household, protecting him. Supplies are brought by boat. There's a dock at the back of the house that is only guarded by one guard. You being a hunter of men, I imagine you can take care of that…"

"I'll need a boat," Bishop said, but a thought occurred to him, "What did you say her fiancé did for a living?"

Abu-Nisah nodded slowly, "Rafa is a good boy, but he does not have the stones to kill a man. I can see from your face that you have killed many men. Go seek him out down by the town dock. He's hard to miss. He's a bit younger than you, and the tallest man in the village."

_The house of Hayat Ensaan is likely overflowing with riches, _Bishop thought, _A splendid prize for Mackrem Cullygan._

He made his way through the stinking streets of Kiria Jazareen to the river. The town dock was teeming with folk. Neatly wrapped packages of meat went into canoes tied up on the dock, while bleating goats and squawking chickens came up from the river. He scanned about for a moment, and then saw what he was looking for. The youth was, indeed, very tall, six and a half feet or more. He had the olive complexion of most Thayans, and his hair was curly and made a bushy halo around his had.

"Rafa!" he shouted. The youth turned.

"That's me," he said, "Rafa Markabi."

"Abu-Nisah told me to seek you out," Bishop said.

Rafa's eyes went wide, and he rushed up to Bishop, taking him by the elbow. The boatman dragged him up back onto shore, to a place where fewer people rushed about.

"What did he tell you?" Rafa asked.

"He told me of your predicament," Bishop said.

Rafa's face went red, "Yes. Shiren…"

"I'm going to rescue her," Bishop said.

"Why would you do a thing like that?" Rafa asked, "He'll only come out and steal her again."

"No he won't," Bishop said, "In two days time his house is going to be robbed and burned to the ground. That will scarcely give him time to realize she's gone."

"You're crazy," Rafa said, "Who are you, anyway? You've skin like a man who's never seen the sun."

"Nevermind who I am," he said, "And for the record, this is what I look like after two years in the sun. But right now I am doing you and your fiancée a favor, because it suits me and my purposes. If you like I can find my own way into Hayat Ensaan's house and I can leave Shiren there to burn with the rest of it when the raiders come."

"You're a river pirate," Rafa guessed again, "I should call the forces right now…"

" They're coming whether you like it or not," Bishop said in a hushed voice, "Now, either they can rob both the house of Hayat Ensaan and the village, _and _probably kill Shiren in the process, or they can rob Hayat, Shiren can be safe in your arms, and the village will be left untouched."

Rafa looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not this pale-skinned stranger was bluffing.

"You'll save her?"

"I will," Bishop said.

"Why?"

"I have a soft spot for star-crossed lovers," Bishop said.

"Where is yours?"

"Somewhere up north," Bishop said, "Have you seen a black-haired woman with a dark complexion come through here?"

"Stranger, that describes half the women in the village, you're going to have to be more specific than that."

"Never mind," Bishop sighed, "I need you to take me into the house of Hayat tonight, in the wee hours, after the moon has gone down. Don't tell a soul."

"You know this probably means I'm crazy," said Rafa, "But I'm going to trust you."

"Why?" asked Bishop.

"Because, this whole time you've been fiddling with that kerchief you have tied around your wrist," Rafa said, "That's a woman's kerchief, isn't it."

Bishop felt the heat rise in his face. It was one of Addie's scarves that she covered her head with to keep the sun from burning her scalp. He'd taken it with him when he left the ship. It smelled of her, and the feel of it around his wrist recalled the feel of it beneath his fingers when he ran his hand over her head. He nodded.

"Very well, stranger. Meet me here once the moon has gone down."

Bishop nodded, still embarrassed that he'd given away the secrets of his heart so easily. He returned to the inn to snatch a few hours of sleep before he went to case the mayor's house.


	16. The End of the Beginning

_Fourteen Years Ago, Barnslow, Neverwinter Territory_

* * *

><p>Mum and Kyla had been fighting for days. Dad was gone, up to Redfallows' Watch on business. Kyrwan did not know what business that might be. Dad was a butcher, most of his work took place at his shop in the town center. Ever since he'd left, the two had been tight and short with each other. He would hear snatches of conversation, late at night. The third night Dad had been gone, he crept downstairs and to where the barn door was open. Inside usually dwelled the doomed cows and sheep, no longer good for milk or wool, that Dad had bought for slaughter. This time, though, the bar was eerily empty. He glimpsed Kyla in the corner, sitting on an overturned bucket. She had her head in his hands, and it looked as though she'd been crying. Mum was standing over her, arms akimbo.<p>

"It's eight years now you've been keeping this secret from us," Mum said, glaring down at her firstborn.

Kyla moaned and sobbed, and said nothing. She sounded almost like the plaintive sheep, stuck in the barn, waiting for Dad's sharp knife to slit her throat and spill her blood onto the already rust-stained earthen floor. Kyrwan had never been afraid to intercede on Kyla's behalf when Dad was beating her, but he harbored a fear in his heart for Mum. Dad was always rough, especially when he'd been drinking, but Mum was soft and kind. That made her anger that much more terrifying.

"Please, Mum," Kyla sighed, "There's no point... he's here now. He's a grown child, he's not going anywhere. What would you bring it up for?"

"Because you're with child again!" Mum exclaimed, "Don't think I haven't noticed. You _hate _beet greens, and here you are eating them out of the bin. I remember the last time. Who's going to take care of this bastard? I'm forty-one years old, Kyla, nobody is going to believe its mine!"

Kyla hid her face in her hands and sobbed.

"Who have you been whoring with?" Mum exclaimed, "Gods and Goddesses above I will slit your throat myself if you don't tell me!"

"I'll take care of it, Mum," Kyla said, her voice muffled by her two hands.

"If you don't tell me who the father is, I'll make sure you carry that burden nine months and cast you out with your shame this time. You're a woman grown, not a girl of fourteen as you were before. Gods, is it even the same father as Kyrwan?"

"Yes," Kyla mumbled.

The boy crouched there by the barn door, his attention jarred back by his mother speaking his name. What did she mean, did the child Kyla was carrying have the same father as Kyrwan? What did that...

He heard a crack resound and echo through the barn as Mother backhanded Kyla across the face. He watched, intently, forgetting his confusion. He watched as Kyla bowed her head, and then rose quickly, suddenly angry. It was as though, all in that instant, she had grown large and terrible, no longer afraid of her mother. She was nineteen years younger than Mum and taller by a head and a half. She towered over Mum, looking suddenly terrible and frightening, her roan-brown hair falling around her face.

"Are you sure you want me to tell you this?" she asked, her voice throaty and guttural.

Mum observed the change in Kyla just as Kyrwan had. She blinked her blue eyes, cowering backwards. She pulled her own hair, which was yellow going gray around the edges, behind her and tugged on it a bit. Kyrwan had seen fear in his mother's eyes exactly twice before, both times when Dad was drunk enough to lay off him and Kyla long enough to chase after Mum with a butcher's knife. And now, with her daughter more angry than cowed, she slunk back, terrified.

"Oh for fuck's sake, Mum, I'm not going to hit you. I'm not the son of a bitch you married."

_She means Dad,_ Kyrwan thought.

"Don't speak of your..."

"Fuck that all, Mum. You know why none of the village lads came to claim him, like they did when you got me."

"Kyla, you have no idea what..."

"Do you think they don't talk, your sisters? Don't you think Cullan Quarely's boys have taken every opportunity to tell me just how this whole mess began?" Kyla tugged on the ends of her hair in frustration, "I should light this barn and house on fire and end it all for the miserable lot of us. If only _Dad _were here for it. I would dearly love to see him burn..."

"So it's true," Mum said, simply, letting her hands lie limply by her sides.

"I have to thank you, Mum, for never interceding on my behalf all of those years, for convincing me to carry... to carry that _boy _nine months, terrified he'd come out a monster, with twelve fingers and flippers for feet! Only to take him from me when I'd finally learned to love him, force me to be the dutiful elder sister, but nothing more..."

"I did you and him a favor."

"You did nothing. Your husband raped your thirteen year old daughter and you did nothing," Kyla said.

"I didn't know!" Mum protested.

"Bullshit," Kyla snapped, "I'm going to bed now. I'll be gone before dawn."

She turned her back on her mother and left the barn. Kyrwan scurried into the shadows before she could see him. There he sat, his hot little cheek in his cold hand, trying to make sense of everything he'd just heard. He had a hazy sense of where babies came from. He'd seen the village women grow thick about the waste, and had more than once heard the muffled screams of a woman in labor, and he had some sense that a man had some part in giving her the child. His cousins, the Quarelys, were all sandy-haired, blue-eyed louts like their father Cullan, while his other cousins, the Lyndels, were swarthy and dark-eyed like their father Ned. While a bit mystified as to the significance of the conversation he had just overheard, he knew quite surely that it was both terrible and of great import. He resolved, after nearly a quarter of an hour's thought, to go into the barn and demand that Mum explain to him what was happening.

He walked in. Someone – Kyla probably – had left a candle burning on a hay bale on the killing floor. It was empty of animals, but the bloodstains told where they had perished. He looked around, searching the dancing shadows for Mum.

He looked up to the hayloft, and saw her. She was sitting, her legs dangling over the loft like a child. In the candlelight, he could not make out her expression, but he saw when she looked down and saw him, staring straight into his eyes. In a single, fluid motion, she pushed herself from the loft.

_Silly, _Kyrwan thought, _I've jumped from there. Why's she playing at a child's game?_

She wasn't jumping from the hayloft. He heard as the rope she'd tied around her neck snapped tight, and heard a crackle like the sound a boot makes on a gravel path. She hung there, swinging, for a moment, Kyrwan staring at her, trying to figure out what in the hells had just happened. He remembered execution day, seeing thieves and murderers put to the gallows. He knew that crackling sound.

The realization came to him, and it felt like when he'd stood on the beach and been bowled over by a large waive. He gasped and fell to the bloodstained earth, putting his hands over his ears and trying to summon his voice.

"K-kyla..." he said, managing a croaky whisper.

_Mum is dead._

"Kyla." he squeaked, a little louder this time.

_Mum is dead and she's hanging there in the barn. Mum is dead and Kyla is leaving, she said so, and it'll just be you and Dad and he's going to get drunk and slice your throat and Mum is dead and Mum is..._

"KYLA!"


	17. The Ends of the World

For someone who had spent the past two years onboard a ship, Adahni felt a strange sense of foreboding as she and her companions bundled themselves onto the Witchboat. She'd grown up in the presence of magic, her best childhood friend Amie had been an adept practitioner, even as a teenager, but even the powerful wizards she had met had never been able to create such a thing as this. She was quite sure that if he had summoned all of his powers, the hedge wizard Sand who had followed her so faithfully in Neverwinter, might have been able to propel a boat the size for some distance, perhaps the better part of the day, but certainly would not have been able to imbue it with the sort of power that would allow it to move on its own, with no wizard to send it on its way. Gann tried to explain the concept to her as he sat at the bow of the boat and it, inexplicably, began moving up the shore of the lake at a fair clip, but Addie didn't really understand, nor did she really care to. Rashemen was a strange land, and the sooner she could leave it, the better.

"How long are we stuck on this thing?" she asked, interrupting one the hagspawn as he went on about the power of the hathran.

"Sheva said a seven-day ride," he said.

"Seven days," Adahni said, "All right. I'm going belowdecks. Don't wake me."

And belowdecks she went. It was a fine autumn morning. She remembered a time when she would have liked nothing more than the stand on the deck, or straddle the bowsprit, and let the cool wind blow her hair this way and that. Now, she wanted nothing more than something warm to lie down under and the solitude of her own thoughts and dreams. She crawled into a bunk and pulled a wolfskin blanket over her head, and there she stayed for the best part of the journey.

There were dreams that plagued her during her time asleep, but every time she awoke, jerked into reality by her own terror, she could not remember why she had felt so panicked. And every time, the motion of the ship and the feeling of hopelessness that attended her when she was conscious pushed her eyelids down again to face whatever waited in the netherworld of her own subconscious. Once or twice, she thought she ought to get up, to do something, but every time, a voice in her head reminded her that there were so very many things she had to do, and she had no idea how to even begin.

_She was in the Sunken Flagon, having a drink with her father and Sand. They were talking about the architecture of Castle Never. Daeghun insisted it was made by gnomes, while Sand claimed that it was the work of dwarves. _

"_But gnomes have such small hands," Daeghun said, "It must be built by gnomes."_

"_Nonsense," Sand countered. When he spoke Elvish he had a Luskan accent, something he had managed to conquer when he spoke Common. Adahni realized after a moment that the entire dream was occurring in Elvish, which was her first language, having grown up under Daeghun's tutelage. She hadn't learned Common properly until she was old enough to socialize with other children, and they thought it very strange that a human child would speak only the dialect of the local Wood Elves. Since she had gone to Neverwinter, she had let her mother – well, father – tongue fall into disuse, and was pleased that her brain still had the wherewithal to dream in Elvish._

_And so, it was very strange when Gann sat down at the table next to them and said to her, in Common, in his harsh Rashemi accent, "Addie, you've got to wake up. We're here."_

"_Bullshit," Daeghun swore, "Gnomes. I tell you. Gnomes."_

"_Addie, wake up. We're in port, we've been waiting for you for an hour. You've been asleep for the last week with little interruption. Wake up."_

"_I don't want to," Addie sighed, "I'm so tired."_

"_Fine," Gann said, "Have it your way."_

She was awakened, instead of by dream-Gann, by corporeal Gann, who dashed a bucket of icy water over her head, "Come on," he said, sounding decidedly not amused, "The others are waiting in the lodge in town. We've all been worried sick, we want you to see one of the hathran to see what's wrong with you."

"Nothing's wrong with me," Adahni insisted. She stretched, and she felt her back crack, "I'm just... cursed." She gathered her things, and walked off of the boat onto dry land. Or, rather, wet land. This far north, the snows had already started to fall. She wrapped her woolen cloak around her as she walked into the "town." It really was an outpost, she observed, a few lodges that would house a dozen or so soldiers, and a couple of places that looked as though they might be comfortable. There were barracks, and around the small 'center' area stood its denizens, burly creatures, human and half-orc and hagspawn, all six or more feet tall. She glimpsed one woman among their number, but once you hit a hundred ninety or so pounds of muscle she imagined what parts you were hiding in your trousers didn't really matter so much. The air was chill, and smelled of pine more strongly than any place she had ever had the privilege of sniffing before.

She became aware very quickly of how weak her legs were, having been barely used for nearly a week. _Have I really been sleeping for this long? What if there is something wrong with me? _She shivered, as much from apprehension as from the cold. _It's just the damned curse. The sooner I can be rid of it..._

"Oh Addie," Gann said, his voice singsong but rather apprehensive, "I believe we have company."

She looked up from the path to see what looked like an enormous mound of moss walking towards her, out of the woods further inland. It had bowled over a couple of the soldiers already, who were struggling to get out of the snow, and seemed intent on bearing down on her, personally.

"What in the everliving fuck is that?" she asked.

"What does it look like?" Safiya asked, looking down at her hands, which had begun glowing with some unearthly blue force, preparing to unleash it on their newfound foe.

"Some... shambling... mound," Adahni said.

"That would be its name," Safiya said. She loosed her bolt, and it struck the mound square between where its eyes would have been if it had had eyes. The thing fell apart, disintegrating like the moss and dirt it was, and falling in an unsightly but inanimate pile to the snow.

"What, a shambling mound?"

"That is what it's called," Safiya replied.

"Rashemi are not very creative with their names," Adahni muttered. Now that the mound was no more, she saw that it had been hiding a couple of... well they resembled nothing more than great walking trees. Not small trees, either, birches, thirty feet or more tall. She had seen a few strange things in her life. The first time she'd laid eyes on a ghast, for example, she had been sick for a few minutes before gathering herself enough to save her own life. But there was something especially eerie about the walking trees. She also imagined being killed by one would be a bit like dying of being whipped by willow wands, which was really not the way she wanted to go.

"I don't think your blade is going to cut it," Kaelyn said, "No pun intended." She sheathed her own, knelt, and began to pray.

_Fucking clerics, _Adahni thought, remembering how irritated she used to get with Casavir when, in the heat of battle, the best thing he could think of to do was get on his knees and say a prayer to Tyr. About one time out of ten it resulted in some almighty magic descending from the skies above to smite or otherwise hinder their enemies, but the other nine times it was irritating at best and at worst, downright dangerous. In this instance, it seemed like Kelemvor or Ilmater or whomever she was praying to chose to ignore this particular plea, and the trees stayed right on their course towards a administering very woody death indeed.

Adahni looked at the trees, and sheathed her blade. She thought about it for a moment. It was winter, and the trees were leafless and probably dry. She reared back, and summoned the blood of the dragon disciple. She took a deep breath, and roared, the flames spurting from her mouth in a torrent of fire. It blackened and curled the branches of the treants, and they shrieked and withdrew in pain, giving the remaining soldiers the opportunity to hack them to bits with their heavy axes.

"I must admit, no matter how many times I see you do that, it never fails to make my skin crawl," Gann sighed.

"Now you know how I feel whenever you show up in one of my dreams," Adahni retorted, "Who's in charge here?"

There were four soldiers remaining, three men and a woman, only distinguishable because she didn't have a beard. They pointed to a smaller woman, a masked hathran from the look of her, looking over at the bodies.

"It's too bad," she said, looking up at Adahni. Behind her mask, which was not nearly as intricate as Sheva Whitefeather's, her eyes were piercingly green, "They were good men. And it's too cold to bury them."

"Does this happen often?" she asked, "Do the trees just uproot themselves and walk into camp on a regular basis?"

"No," the hathran said, "It seems as though the woods have turned against us. This little outpost has been tolerated for generations, that the hathrans might keep their eyes on the world. But now, as of late, the spirits of the wood have revolted."

"I suppose it keeps you in firewood," Adahni said, nudging at the pile of sticks that had once been a treant with the toe of her boot.

"Who are you?" the witch asked, "You've the smell of despair on you. Not many come up the river this late in the year."

"My name is Adahni Farishta," she said, "I was sent from Mulsantir by Sheva Whitefeather. She said I might look for the Wood Man. And you are?"

"My name is Nadaj," she said. She walked up to Adahni and examined her a little more closely. She put her nose right up to Addie's neck and inhaled deeply.

"All right, I don't know what the customs are here, but that is a gross violation of personal space, back where I'm from," Adahni said, stepping back quickly.

Nadaj stepped up to her again, looked her right in the eye, their faces centimeters apart. "I know who you are," she said in a low tone so the others couldn't hear. Her voice changed then, and it was hollow and unearthly, not the voice of a human woman, but of something... beyond, "We have heard the whispers on the wind." The hathran's eyes went wide and flashed. Adahni felt the hair at the back of her neck stand on end and a prickle go up the base of her spine, and she stepped back again, this time slipping on a slick patch and winding up on her ass in the snow.

"Well aren't you clumsy!" Nadaj said, her voice returning to normal, "Come on, you'd best speak to Dalenka. She's in charge around here. She was hathran while I was still swaddled, she's three times the witch I ever will be."

Nadaj ushered the companions into one of the cabins, which was warm and dry, which was rather comforting all things considered. Dalenka was seated in front of a large and roaring fire at the end of the room, surrounded by furnishings that would have looked more in place in a fine house in Neverwinter than a tiny cabin at the ends of the earth. The older witch was smoking, a long, thin-stemmed pipe. She didn't look up as they walked in.

Nadaj cleared her throat, and the older hathran looked up. Adahni could see through her mask that the old woman's eyes were milky with cataracts, and wondered if she could hear or see at all.

"Dalenka," Nadaj said, loudly, "I have someone here to speak with you."

"Who are you?" asked the senior hathran, turning her eyes to Nadaj, and then to Adahni. Her voice was deep and powerful, but Adahni could hear her breath, whistling and wheezing around her words, and knew that the old woman was sickly. The climate couldn't be doing much for her, she thought.

"I am Adahni Farishta," she said.

"But who are you?" Dalenka insisted, looking from Adahni to Nadaj to Adahni's companions, "What are you doing here? Is it you who have made the trees go mad?"

The old hathran rose slowly from her chair, seizing a stick of blackthorn to keep herself upright as she walked right up to Adahni, "Who are you? You are not one, but two."

"I..."

"You are not one, but two!" the hathran exclaimed. She whirled and turned to look at Nadaj, raising her stick over her head, "It _is _you! You have made them... you have driven them mad! Get out! Get out!" She raised one gnarled hand over her head, as though to bring down wrath from the heavens upon them.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome," Okku rumbled, and turned to walk back out into the snow.

Back in the outpost center, Nadaj said, "Well, I suppose if you're going to look for the Wood Man, you know where to go." She looked out over the woods suspiciously.

"But I take it I can count on no help from the wychlaren here," Adahni said.

"Dalenka is old," Nadaj sighed, "I don't know if she knows where she is half of the time. As you know, we hathran are tied in our blood to the land and to the spirits of the land. Whatever has caused the spirits of the wood to lose themselves has affected her doubly."

"And it has not affected you?" Adahni asked.

"I am young, not yet twenty," Nadaj said, "I do not have half of the connection with the world as Dalenka. I suppose in sixty year's time I may be twisted this way and that with the whims of the spirits as well."

Adahni nodded slowly, looking to her companions for any clues that the young hathran was telling the truth. None of them challenged her assertion.

"Into the wood then?" she said.

"That is the idea, isn't it," Safiya said dryly, "Are you sure you don't need another weeklong nap first?"

"Hush," Adahni scolded, "I think I've got it in me right now."

"Oh, we all knew you did, my lemming!" Gann exclaimed, "Come now! Adventure awaits!"


	18. Persuasion

They trudged for several miles along the snowy path into the heart of the Ashenwood. The last time Addie had seen a wood this dense, it was a days journey north of Port Llast in Duskwood. The snow in Rashemen was deeper and harder to walk through, but at least, she thought glumly, there was no gnome to slow her down. Kaelyn and Gann were both burly and tall, and Okku was... a bear. Safiya, too, was deceptively agile, considering that her talents did not lie in her physical form. They made good time into the very heart of the Ashenwood, where they paused at a clearing.

"Do you smell that?" Adahni asked, sniffing the air sharply. It was cold and dry, and carried the faintest scent of woodsmoke.

"I'm afraid I don't," Kaelyn said, raising her nose to take in the breeze. The rest of her companions did the same.

"Nothing here," Safiya said.

"Nope," Gann said.

Okku stayed still, his snout to the sky, for almost a full minute. He lowered his eyes, and looked suspiciously at Adahni, "You're right. I smell woodsmoke. To the south."

"You don't suppose someone is living here, do you?" Adahni asked.

"Hunters have been known to come to these woods," Gann said, "It's not unheard of... but, to the south is a great forest fire that has been burning for years. I think that must be what you're smelling. I say, you _do _have a powerful nose."

"Yeah," Adahni said, "A forest fire burning for years? That doesn't sound natural."

"This is Rashemen," Gann said, "Nothing _just _happens here."

"I don't think the Wood Man would spend his time in the midst of a forest fire." Kaelym said. Adahni searched her voice for a hint of irony, but found none, "But nor would he spend it in a blighted forest."

Adahni looked at her curiously, "A blight?"

"I can sense it, that something is amiss," she said.

"Were you a druid in a past life?" Adahni asked.

Kaelyn shook her head, "I simply observe the world around me as the Gods have wrought it."

"The next time you think about giving me a non-answer like that, do me a favor and keep your mouth shut," Adahni replied, sighing irritably, "Look, up there, there's a tree significantly larger than the others. May as well check it out, right?"

The small band tramped through the snow towards the tree that Adahni had spotted. The woods thinned out, gradually, the small birches and spindly oaks giving way to larger and larger glades. Eventually they reached a clearing, around half an acre in size. At its center was an ancient oak, its trunk thick as ten men. Something else had been dogging Adahni as they approached it though. Under the chill smell of snow and the edge of acrid smoke from the mysterious fire to the south, was something else. Something dank and rotting, sort of like the smell of the Mere back home, but somehow more sinister. It was not the smell of human flesh – gods knew Adahni had smelled enough of that – but it was unpleasant and deathly all the same. It grew stronger as they approached the clearing, and Adahni found herself utterly distracted by it.

"What _is _that?" she asked, making a face.

"What is what, my lemming?" Gann asked.

"That smell!" she said, "It's disgusting. Like compost or rotting manure..." Without warning, she doubled over and vomited. Having eaten nothing but hard biscuits and dried meat for the last seven days, it wasn't as bad as it could have been, but unpleasant all the same. She emptied her stomach, and moved away from the mess she'd made, "It's awful."

"I don't smell anything, Addie," Kaelyn said.

"I do," Okku said, "I suppose we can all sense the blight in different ways, Kaelyn. You felt it. Adahni and I can smell it. This should be where the Wood Man dwells... we old gods have our preferred haunts, after all. But I can't imagine he'd be here, what with it smelling like it does."

"Are you all right, Addie?" Safiya asked, "I'm getting worried about you. It's not like the famed slayer of the King of Shadows to sleep seven days and then vomit at a smell the rest of us can't even sense."

"You heard what the hathran said," Adahni sighed, "I'm not myself. I am not one, but two. The spirit eater curse is riding on my shoulders. Gods know what it's doing to me."

Safiya nodded, but shouted as her attention was drawn elsewhere, "Look there," she said, "Now there's something I haven't seen."

"What?" Kaelyn asked.

"A telthor person," Safiya said. The ragtag band followed her as she rushed up to the translucent figure of a man. He was a hunter, from the look of him, but he did not have the garb that the soldiers at the outpost did. His clothes looked rougher, his weapons cruder.

"What a fate," Adahni muttered, "To continue to wander Faerun after your body is rotting underneath the stones."

"There are worse fates," Kaelyn said, "Would you find it preferable to be lodged in the Wall of the Faithless until your very being is rent asunder?"

"You know," Adahni said, "All of those stories seem so farfetched, I'm not sure if I really believe that part of the teachings."

"And that is how one winds up in the Wall of the Faithless!" Kaelyn cried. It should have sounded triumphant, Adahni thought, a religious fanatic making her point to a prodigal and haphazard half-believer. But it wasn't, her words struck a dull tone like a poorly shapen bell, as though Kaelyn were upset by the fact that the non-believers were punished so.

"Careful as you go there," the telthor man, whom they had approached, intoned. His voice was hollow and unearthly, not unlike how Nadaj's voice had sounded in that moment in the outpost where Addie had been so rattled, "These woods are no longer under spirit protection."

"Protection from what?" Adahni asked.

"Wild things... animals driven mad by one thing or another, spirits no longer bound to the land, roaming freely and feeding where they will," the telthor said, "Such things as tend to happen in a land where the boundaries between here and there are not so solid... "

"And things slip back and forth that oughtn't in any sensible part of the world," Adahni added.

"Sensible is relative," the telthor sighed, "As for my, It used to be... long ago, that there was a sanctuary, a place where the spirits of this forest could hide without fear of being molested by strangers. I do what I can to protect those who still remain here, but I am not half as powerful as the guardian used to be. I was once called Grigor, though there are none left to call me that..."

"The guardian," mused Adahni. That was the title that the Illefarn had given to their ill-fated creation that would become known as the King of Shadows. Both names were inadequate to describe the sheer power and horror of the thing, but hearing something called 'guardian' reminded her of it, "What was your guardian?"

"A dryad," the telthor said, "It was she who bound me to the land here, as I lay dying at the bottom of that pool." He pointed to the northwest. When she looked hard, Adahni could see through the spindly and leafless trees the shimmer of water in the distance, "I was a hunter in these woods. Many years ago... A dire wolf had carried off two lambs from my village, further south into the Ashenwood. On the third day, it carried off a child, a little boy named Alexy. I and my companions came tracking it through here. My companions gave up after the third day, but I would not."

"It was your child," Adahni observed.

The telthor nodded but did not comment further, "I found the wolf on the island over there, and what was left of my boy. Before the day was out we had each given each other a mortal wound. The wolf staggered off to the west to die. I stumbled into the pond, holding my guts in with one hand. I knew that dying in the cold of the water would provide an easier end than waiting while the wild things carried off parts of my body while I was still around to feel it. It was then that I felt her arms encircling me, bearing me up and out of my body, and to the woods here. It's not a bad existence. For a long time I was able to protect the wayward spirits who wandered here, as I could not protect my Alexy... after two hundred years it has eased my pain somewhat..."

"But that changed."

"The dryad was the truly powerful force. Some years ago, quite a different creature than the usual ones came through these woods. On the surface, he was a man, but underneath... he was something else entirely. He came to the sanctuary, on the island in the pool, and the dryad did not know to not let him in, for he was confused and frightened. But he was carrying with him a curse, a blight, a hunger that tore our guardian from her place and devoured her whole."

"It seems part of you has been here before, Addie," Safiya said.

"Lovely," Adahni said, "And so what's happening now?"

"There were none to protect the spirits, save I and a few of my more stalwart companions," the telthor said, "And now the sacred space has been defiled by creatures of the mortal plane... Frost Giants." He wrinkled his translucent nose, "They are not intelligent creatures, but they are large, and they do not care for the niceties that even those among us who are dead do. I cannot cross the water to fight them, for they have desecrated the sacred tree, and I am not safe."

"And if we got rid of the Frost Giants?" Adahni asked, "Perhaps you could?"

"If you cleanse the island of its taint, yes, perhaps I could... perhaps a new spirit could take in the power of the island, and create the sanctuary anew."

"Are you sure this is something we ought to get involved with?" Gann asked, "Frost Giants are... well, giant."

"You heard Okku," Adahni said, "He can't imagine the Wood Man would return to his rightful place with the taint upon the woods making it smell like it was. Remove the Frost Giants, we strengthen the spirits. We strengthen the spirits, the blight becomes weaker. You see what I'm getting at?"

"I don't know what dark place you pulled the connection between the spirits and the Frost Giants and some dead dryad that one of your predecessors sucked into the oblivion out of," Safiya said, "How do we know it's even related?"

"In Rashemen, nothing _just _happens," Adahni said, quoting Gann, "It's all connected. It _has _to be. You heard the dead hunter, the blight is a recent happening. The more we can do to set the woods to rights, the more likely the Wood Man may want to return."

"It's as good a theory as any," Gannayev put in, "And I've never seen a Frost Giant."

"They look like every other giant," Adahni said, "Just gray."

"Still, all the same, it is exciting to see something new," Gann said as the band of them walked towards the pool. Closer up, Adahni could see the reason it had not frozen was that it was not a pond at all, just a place where a mighty river with a swift current and bent and twisted around a hill, leaving an island in the middle. The island was barren except for a few trees, and a place where an elder tree had once stood, its stump standing three or so feet off the ground from where it had been cut. Adahni imagined a crazed spirit eater, hacking at the tree until it disgorged the dryad who lived within, and then sucking out her life's essence. She wondered how that would taste.

_That's disgusting, Addie, _she chided herself, "How are we getting past this water?"

"We shouldn't swim in this cold," Okku said, "That's how people lose toes."

Safiya sighed, and began rolling some ball of magic between her fingers like a child would roll modeling clay into a sphere. It grew larger and larger, a pale blue orb, and she tossed it into the water. The cold spell that she had woven froze the moving water solid, and the companions strode comfortably across it to the island.

"What exactly are you planning to do with the Frost Giants?" asked Okku, "They aren't known for being very welcoming, and will probably not be terribly pleased that you intend to drive them from their home."

"I have my ways," Adahni said. The beginnings of a plan were beginning to grow in the back of her mind. It was just crazy enough to work, but she knew that if she told her companions about it they would at best, tell her it was a terrible idea, and at worst, actively sabotage it, "You just hang back and watch. Worst case scenario, we'll have to fight them, which has always been the worst case scenario."

Her companions did not have time to respond.

"Who dares trespass on this island?" a voice bellowed. Adahni looked to the stand of trees, and realized that the shapes she had taken for boulders were actually a group of ten or fifteen Frost Giants, who must have been seated in a circle. One of them, only slightly larger than the others, but who was distinguished by the dull metal crown that encircled his enormous head, walked up and looked down at them, "Ohh look at these! Little mice with shiny swords, ja?"

"Yeah, sure," Adahni said, "You're pretty far from the mountains, no? Don't Frost Giants prefer mountains?"

"Ja," the giant replied.

"What's your name?"

"My name is Torval," the Frost Giant leader said, "I is the jarl here. You show me respect."

"You're the jarl of a fifteen-giant tribe far from your homeland. I don't know what kind of power you think you hold, but I, for one, is not impressed. _Am _not impressed," she corrected herself hastily, embarrassed to have inadvertently repeated the giants' poor grammar.

"You is not impressed with me? A little mouse is not impressed with me?"

"Well how are we to know you are truly worthy of being jarl of this tribe?" Adahni asked. In her brain, the gears were turning, remembering everything she had read. In an old compendium of research on the giants that Daeghun had kept, she had read the rituals of Frost Giant leadership. Each band was lead by a leader called the jarl, and the band would get a new jarl if the old one were defeated by a stronger challenger, "What about you there!" she pointed to another giant, who was smaller in height but broader in shoulder, "What's your name?"

"Joki," the giant replied.

"Don't you think you ought to be jarl? You're so much stronger and handsomer than Torval."

"I is?" Joki asked, looking down at himself.

"Well, it seems like your jarl has taken you far from your homeland, am I right?" Adahni asked.

"Well, ja," Joki said, "He defeated our old jarl... but then..."

"Then what?" Adahni asked.

"Then that runty little Didrik defeated him while he was still wounded from the fight," Joki said, furrowing his brows, "It wasn't fair."

"It is true," Torval said, "Didrik cheated. We did not want to follow him, and so we were exiled."

"So let me get this straight," Adahni asked, "You're following a jarl who was defeated by the runt of your tribe?"

"Well... ja," Joki admitted. He looked around and his companions, each looking as baffled as the he was.

"Surely that can't be true!" Adahni exclaimed, "Why, word of the noble strength of the Frost Giant has reached the ears of all. I cannot believe that a band of you valiant creatures would be so weak as to follow a leader who was so ignominiously beaten! Surely there is one among you who would be better suited to leading such a courageous tribe!"

The tribe members scratched their heads and looked at each other.

"You, what's your name?" she asked pointing at another giant who was standing next to Joki.

"Burda," the giant said.

"How do you like living on this island in Ashenwood?" she asked.

"I don't like it. No mountain goats to eat," Burda said.

"Well have _you _ever thought about being jarl?" Adahni asked, "You could take them back to the mountains."

"No!" Joki exclaimed, "No, _I _want to be jarl."

"But will you keep us here to eat little maggoty badgers?" another giant piped up, "Perhaps _I _should be jarl."

This set up a chorus of giants bellowings, like frogs in the springtime. "I want to be jarl!" "No, _I _want to be jarl." "No, _I _should be jarl!" "I challenge Torval!" "Well I challenge the winner if you fight Torval!" "No _I _called winner!" The bellowings soon turned to blows, and within minutes the island was one massive Frost Giant free-for-all. The dull metal crown changed hands a few times, but none seemed to be a clear winner.

"And now we wait," Adahni said. She dusted the snow off of a large rock on the ground, sat down, and waited for the problem to take care of itself. Her companions sat themselves around her on various other rocks and stumps, Gann shoving her over to share her seat.

"You turned them against each other so easily," Kaelyn observed, "It's actually rather frightening. I suppose it's a good thing that Frost Giants are such brutish and unintelligent beings."

"You'd be surprised at the brutishness and stupidity displayed by even those who fancy themselves high-minded," Adahni said, "And how easily the natural hunger for power can be turned to ones own advantage."

Next to her, Gann shuddered, "You are too conniving by half, my lemming."

"Would you rather have your had popped like a ripe tomato by a giant's club?" Adahni asked.

"I suppose not," Gann said, "Desperate times, desperate measures and all that." He was silent for a moment, stroking his chin, "I wonder, if you could do so so easily with giants, and you seem to have some sway over humans... I would dearly love to see you go up against hags."

"I doubt I'd want to," Adahni, "If a hag is persuasive enough to get a human man into bed with her, I don't think I'd ever want to be in the same room as one. She'd probably have be dancing a jig in my skivvies if she wanted to."

"Now that I would pay to see," Gann said.

"Hush," Adahni scolded, "Look, the fight seems to be dying down."

Fights among Frost Giants were short and brutal, the victor declared almost immediately. The first giant she had singled out to challenge Torval, Joki, came up to her, the crown of the Jarl on his head.

"I is the jarl now!" he declared.

"Good for you, Joki," Adahni said, "I know you'll do great things."

"I is doing great things. I is moving this tribe off of this little island and back to the mountain stronghold where we belongs. Didrik will not defeat me as he did the weakling Torval."

"That's a wonderful plan. Have a nice trip," Adahni said.

"Goodbye, little mouse," Joki said. He signaled for his band to follow him, and they tramped off through the woods, shaking the ground as they went. As the last of them disappeared into the trees, Adahni breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well I'm glad that worked," she said.

"Addie, look!" Safiya pointed. Through the woods, from all directions, spirits came over the land in a shimmering river. They swam the pool and arrived on the island, chattering and tweeting and making all the noises that they would have made in life. After a few minutes, Grigor, too, arrived.

"You've somehow managed to rid us of them without further bloodshed," Grigor said, "How?"

"I convinced them that it was in their best interest to leave this place, and head back to the mountains from whence they came," Adahni said.

Grigor nodded, "Now it is only a matter of finding a spirit to protect this island... the sacred pool is there. Do you know of any spirit brave and true enough to protect us?"

Adahni walked up to where he pointed, the stump that had once been a great tree. Looking into the hollowed out trunk, she saw a shimmering pool of water, glowing with otherworldly energy.

"I think I do," she said, looking up at Grigor.

"Me?" he said, and laughed a hollow laugh, "I do not think myself worthy, nor powerful enough..."

"You have guarded the spirits of these woods, even after your protector had perished," Adahni said, "You lost your mortal life protecting the lives of those in your village. I cannot think of a worthier being."

"Two hundred years I have roamed these woods," he said, "It would be nice to... change." He walked hesitantly up to the trunk. He climbed up to the top, and looked into the water, "Very well." He dipped one foot in, then the other, and he began to glow with supernatural energy. Light poured from his skin. Around him, the dead tree gave a great shudder, and began to grow. Around them echoed laughter, first from Grigor's voice, and then joined by the bubbling laughter of a toddler. The tree sprouted branches, and trunk grew taller, enclosing the telthor, and growing back to its impressive height. The animal spirits around them ran to it, rolling in the snow at its base.

As the final branch stretched to the sky, the magical light was finally contained.

"Thank you, stranger,"a voice similar to that of the telthor Grigor, but with a greater weight and gravitas, "You have restored some of the balance to this place of spirits."

"How does it feel?"

"As though the weight of the world is suddenly bearable," the new guardian replied, "But I can sense now, a greater foreboding. To the south, a fire has burned for far longer than a fire ought to burn. If you wish to find the Wood Man, you must find a way to end the burning. Know that you may always find sanctuary here, on this island."

"Very well," Adahni said, "We still have several hours of daylight. We'll set out to the south and make camp closer to where the fire is burning. It should at least be warmer there."

"Sounds like a plan," Okku said.

"Farewell," Adahni said, waving to the tree. They walked across the frozen pool and back into Ashenwood. It had been easy enough to fix that part of the taint. Perhaps the rest of it would be just as simple, and she could get the answers she thought.


	19. Stealing

Night fell quickly in Thay, with no extended sunsets to wax poetic about. The evening crept along lazily, the days still warm enough for people to carouse outside until late in the night. In the wee hours, after the docks had cleared of their daily bustle, Bishop and Rafa crept back to the river. Rafa's personal vessel, a coracle just big enough for two men, or a man and a decent cargo, was waiting at the slip. They climbed in, Rafa more graceully than Bishop. Rafa was armed with a dagger, Bishop more heavily with his bow on his back and his skinning knife. They poled slowly across the river, Rafa providing the power, Bishop scanning the bank. The moon was half full, giving enough light for a man with keen eyes to see, but enough cover for two vagabonds to steal into a rich man's home.

"Keowan," Rafa asked, "I'm frightened. What if they catch us?"

Bishop's first instinct was to call him a pussy and shame him, but remembered his own past. Rafa wasn't that much younger than him, probably eighteen or nineteen, but he'd led a comparably charmed life, he imagined. _Then again, next to my own, most lives look fairly charmed. _"They won't catch us."

"But what if they do?"

"We'll be hanged," Bishop said, "Or I suppose I'll have to make a quick exit, and you'll be hanged. Or we'd have to bash in a few heads and skip town."

"That's not very comforting," Rafa said.

"Then perhaps you'd best make sure they don't catch us," Bishop said, "And just ask yourself, would you rather die tomorrow, or live sixty more years under the heel of Hayat Ensaan, knowing that he sleeps every night next to the woman you love?"

Rafa was silent, "I don't know. The thought pierces my very heart right now, but I wonder if it's not something you would learn to live with."

"It's not," Bishop said, "You can take my word for that."

The two men were silent for a long moment. Bishop had had a couple of stiff drinks before coming out to the dock, and he was feeling rather magnanimous. For the first time since he had lost her, he felt a sense of purpose. He was accomplishing something, returning Shiren to her fiance, and handing over the riches of the Ensaan household to his crew.

"Who is she?" asked Rafa, "The girl?"

Normally, Bishop would have held his tongue, but the drinks he'd had – a strange clear liquor distilled from potatoes that the Rashemi were fond of – thought otherwise. Still, he kept his words measured. "Adahni?" Bishop asked, "What do you mean?"

"You act like you know what you're speaking of. What happened? How do you know that it is better for us to rescue Shiren?"

"When I met her," Bishop said, chuckling, "I was an apprentice assas... hunter. An apprentice hunter. I was under the tutelage of a sadistic son of a bitch named Dayven Elhandrien. She was his wife."

Rafa guffawed. If the peeping of frogs had not been so loud, Bishop would have scolded him, "So you do know what you're talking about, then. You were in the same situation I was in. So how did you gain her, your master's wife? Did she leave him?"

"Yes," Bishop said, "Like I said, he was sadistic son of a bitch. He beat her, hard, and frequently. Eventually, she ran away. I didn't see her again for nearly a year."

"And then you became lovers," Rafa said.

"Eventually," Bishop replied, his face going red with embarrassment as he remembered drunkenly trying to kiss her in her room in Sunken Flagon back in Neverwinter, and her rebuffing him soundly.

"And if she had not left him?" Rafa asked, "Would it still pain you as it did then, as it pains me now to know Shiren has been taken from me?"

"I spent that year trying to forget her face," Bishop replied, "I bedded every whore in Neverwinter and a few in Luskan and Port Llast. I even kept company with another woman for some time, for all the good that did. I drank myself into oblivion every night. I killed off every soft or warm feeling I had left, and I succeeded, for a good long time, in being a bitter little bastard and convincing myself I neither needed nor wanted anyone."

"You don't act like a man who wants for human companionship," Rafa said.

"That sounds like a nice way of calling me a prick," Bishop said, "And you're right, I am a prick. But I'm the prick that's helping you rescue your fiancee and demanding nothing in return, so if you want to hear the rest of the wisdom I'm about to impart, I suggest you be a little nicer."

"I didn't actually call you a prick, Keowan," Rafa said, "Nor did I mean that. Tell me, how you got on."

"People need people," Bishop said, "It's not in our nature to be alone. I suppose if it had not been her, I would have found some other woman to make miserable with my constant unhappiness, but I wonder if it would have been the same..."

"Did you make her miserable?"

"Sometimes," he said. After he'd caught her in bed with Sandr, the Rashemi sailor, he'd carried on loudly with a whore in the room next to hers. She hadn't looked him in the eye for days, "But apparently not miserable enough to leave me."

"Until now," Rafa said, "Otherwise she'd be here with you, no?"

"Asshole," Bishop said, "You have no idea what happened."

"You haven't told me," Rafa replied.

"I'm a pirate, like you said. Before we came upriver, there was a storm, she was knocked overboard less than a mile from land. I've reason to believe she survived. I'm going to Rashemen to look for her."

"Rashemen is miles and miles inland. How would she have gotten there?"

"I don't know," Bishop replied, "But I have it on good authority that she's there."

"Who's authority?"

"Our dog," he said. He thought a moment, realizing how utterly ridiculous that sounded, "I just _know, _all right?"

"Far be it from me to question your sanity," Rafa said, "After all, I'm only paddling alone with you on a boat on a half-lit night alone and you are armed to the teeth. It seems that if I truly thought you crazy, I would be all the crazier."

"Sanity is relative," Bishop said. He could make out the outline of the house in the moonlight now. There were two lights lit, one in what he imagined was the front hallway, the other in a room upstairs. Somebody was still up.

"I just... I wonder if it would not be better for Shiren to be the wife of a rich man, rather than a simple boatman like myself," Rafa said, "He can provide for her, far better than I ever could."

"Ah, so that's what's bothering you," Bishop said. He turned to look the boy in the eye, "A man who thinks he can buy a woman like he buys a cow is not a man. A man who looks at his wife as something that can be bought or stolen looks at her as a thing. Not the finest house in the world can make up for being treated as property."

"You are very sure of yourself, Keowan," Rafa said.

"I've made mistakes," Bishop said, "But there are a few things I am sure about, and this is one of them."

"Still, it is rather a strange feeling, going to ones death," Rafa said, "We can never be really sure what waits on the other side."

"Nope," Bishop said, "Only the highly religious have some semblance of surety in that. And they tend to be... well, stupid."

Rafa guffawed, "I suppose we'd best not be going to our death then."

"There's the spirit," Bishop said.

They arrived on the opposite bank and began to move upriver to where Rafa said that Hayat had diverted the river to make a moat around his great house.

"There's a dock out back," Rafa said quietly, "Nobody guards it, but just inside that door there will be two watchmen. A friend of mine has taken deliveries to this house since he built it five years ago. None of the townsfolk have ever been inside, though, so I don't know where the rest of the guardsmen will be."

"Two men I can deal with," Bishop said, "Take me to the dock, but don't leave the boat. Take it downriver and tie it up. I'm going to go in, take out as many guardsmen as I can. When you've secured the boat, I need you to come back. Can you swim?"

"I'm a boatman," Rafa said, "Yes, I can swim."

"Good," Bishop said, "Wait for me at the dock."

Rafa nodded, "I hope you understand exactly what it is you're doing."

"I always have," Bishop replied. They reached the dock. The current of the river followed the water into the moat, and he was able to leap from the coracle onto the dock without making Rafa stop. He waved at the boy as the river carried the coracle away downriver, away from the eyes of the watchers in the house.

"All right, Hayat Ensaan," Bishop muttered, "Let's see if you have anything worth stealing."

The door was locked but not bolted. Silly man probably thought he was safe with his manufactured moat and guards. That none of the downtrodden denizens of Kiria Jazareen would dare rob him. Bishop made short work of the door, sliding his hunting knife through the lock and jiggling it until it clicked open. He eased it open, and relaxed a bit as the hinges proved to be well-oiled and it opened quietly. The lamps in the corridor were not lit. Bishop could see straight down into a foyer, where two guards stood. One appeared to be drunk or asleep, slumped over a table. The other was sitting with his back against the wall.

_Something's amiss here, _Bishop thought, _There's something wrong with them._

He walked up, as quietly as he could. Sure enough, upon further inspection, the guards were out of it. Alive – the blood still pulsed beneath their throats – but they didn't even stir as he put his fingers to the pulse points. He scanned the room for signs of what had put them in this situation. The air did not smell of any drugs, there were no liquor bottles anywhere. There were the remnants of a meal on a table by the door which lead further into the house, but a sniff of the cups revealed only water. Utterly preoccupied by the state of the residents, he put aside the mental list he was making of all the paintings, statues, and expensive furniture he was passing, until he could figure out what in the hells was going on.

He ventured further into the house. At the base of the stairs, which he imagined led up to the living quarters, were two more guards, both passed right out like the two in the foyer. At this point, he was officially on his guard, and kept his hand on the handle of his knife as he climbed the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, he noticed only one room lit. He followed it, slowly and quietly, until he came to a great dining room. Staying in the shadows, he looked around. There was one person at one end of the table, a great fat git in his mid thirties, dressed in expensive-looking robes of brocade trimmed with some kind of fur. _That must be Hayat Ensan, _he thought. The man had his head in his plate, his arms sprawled in front of him. Bishop looked from one end of the room to another, and walked slowly up to the figure at the table. Like the guards downstairs, he was alive, but soundly asleep. A check of the plate and glass in front of him also revealed nothing alcoholic.

_What in the hells happened here? _Bishop thought, _Do all Thayans just pass out on their dinners? That just seems bad manners..._

He heard a clank behind him. He whirled, just in time to see a frying pan, glinting in the candlelight, being brought down hard on the crown of his head. He saw the colors of the world start to run together, and then all was black.


	20. One Night in Luskan

_Fourteen years ago, Barnslow, Neverwinter Territory_

* * *

><p>Kyla did not leave before dawn, as she'd promised her mother. The next several days went by as a blur. Kyrwan barely heard anything said to him, or saw anything that was going on. Every step on the walkway to the house was the crackling of neckbones, every bird taking flight was Mum leaping. He went places when Kyla took him by the hand and led him there. To the table to eat. To bed at night. To the gravedigger's. To the cemetery outside the ramshackle temple of Chauntea where they put Mum in the ground. Otherwise, he sat by the window, watching in dread for when Dad came home.<p>

On the fifth day, Kyla put her hand on his shoulder. "We're leaving," she said.

He turned to look at her, "Where are we going?"

"Do you remember my friend Nimita?" she asked.

"She went to Luskan the last time the border changed, after the last war," Kyrwan said.

"Yes, she married that Luskan soldier who was stationed here. I'm surprised you remember that," Kyla replied.

"I'm eight, not stupid," Kyrwan replied.

"She says there's a place I can work there," Kyla said, "And I can find us a flat to rent. You can go to school, a proper school, not just that group Mrs. Quarely holds once a week. There's so much more opportunity in the big city."

Kyrwan instinctively recoiled from the suggestion of 'school,' but given what had happen over the past several days, the idea of sitting in an orderly room with other children, solving problems in a neat, orderly world, where two plus two always equaled four, was appealing.

"What kind of job?" he asked. Kyla was a talented gardener and housekeeper. _Maybe she'll get a job at a rich house, and we'll live in the servants quarters in the mansion._

"It's at a tavern," Kyla said, vaguely, "It's a lot of money. More than Dad makes. We're not going to be rich, but things will be better than they are here. I promise you that."

"I don't want to stay here with Dad," he said.

"I wouldn't let you even if you did," Kyla said, "You're my little boy, all right? And I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"I'm not a little boy," Kyrwan said, but let his sister take him into her arms, though he was almost big enough that she couldn't lift him, and kiss him on the cheek.

They left Barnslow under dead of night, taking with them all of Mum's jewelry. Everything else they left. It was a long walk with Kyrwan's short legs, but he was careful never to complain. Kyla had looked peaked ever since they'd buried Mum, she was pale, and ill. She would often wake him up in the mornings getting up, walking far away from the camp, and vomiting in the bushes. She also cried at night, after she thought he was asleep. He did his best to pull his weight and not give her anything else to worry about. At night they camped, he went hunting, arming his slingshot with smooth rocks from the river and taking down three wild pigeons. He boiled them, like he'd seen Mum do with chickens, so the feathers fell out, and roasted them over the fire. Kyla smiled and patted his head and praised him, but couldn't keep any of it down. So he ate his pigeon, and tried not to worry. _We'll find her a doctor in Luskan when we get there._

They arrived in Luskan early in the morning on the sixth day. What struck Kyrwan first was the smell, smoke and garbage and the salt smell of the sea. Kyla smelled it too, he could tell by the way she walked carefully, not wanting to set off the nausea that had plagued her ever since they'd left Barnslow. He'd never seen anything like it, all the houses stuck so close together, the tall towers uphill, the mighty river Mirar moving slowly but powerfully through the center of town. They arrived through the eastern gate, and made their way down the sloping cobblestoned streets to the docks, where Kyla checked an address against the scrap of paper she was carrying. The address was a building, five stories, the fourth and the fifth obvious additions, leaning over the road and casting it into shadow. She knocked at the door.

It was answered by a man in his forties, fat and long-haired.

"So you're Kath's new girl?" he asked. His voice was high, almost like a woman's. Kyrwan covered his mouth to keep from laughing, "And this is your son?"

"My brother," Kyla corrected him.

"And it's just the two of you?" he asked.

"Yes," Kyla said, "Just him and me."

"Very well, a flat at the end of the hall on the third floor just emptied out. You'll have to be over at the Cuckoo's nest later, before sundown is preferable. Rent is 25% of your pay, and you'll have to part with another 5% for a room over the tavern. Kath likes her girls to maintain a place there, just in case," the man said, "Washrooms are out back in the shed. Firewood's provided, but if you prefer cooking over oil or coal you'll have to pay for that yourself. Here's the keys." The man handed over two keys, identical. Kyla hurried up the stairs, Kyrwan on her heels.

The flat small, the size of the two largest rooms in their house in Barnslow put together. But, Kyrwan reasoned, city living was different. They didn't need store rooms, because you could buy food year round. They didn't need a barn because nobody had to work in a barn. It was one large room with two alcoves with beds in them. A large fireplace took up most of the outside wall, where a window looked out over the town and into the harbor, where tall ships were docked. He pressed his nose to the glass, fascinated by the ships, their masts reaching towards the sky, the bowsprits stuck out in front of them, and the figureheads looking sternly over the town.

"Are there still pirates here?" he asked Kyla.

"I don't know," she replied. She'd sat down on one of the beds and was massaging her feet and ankles, "I suppose as long as there are ships and towns to rob, there will be pirates."

"I want to be a pirate," he said, thinking on images of ragged seamen with gold in their ears and curved swords, fighting the Neverwinter and Luskan navies for control of the Sea of Swords.

"You'd have to eat rats and weevils," Kyla said, "Not nice things like we do here."

"I wouldn't have to go to school."

"Even pirates have to go to school," Kyla said, "Otherwise how will you be able to count how much gold you've stolen?"

She had a point, he had to concede. He went back to her and busied himself with unpacking the few things they'd brought with them.

"Now, I need to tell you a few things," she said, "You're a big boy now, and I'm going to have to work, so I'll be leaving you alone at nights. I know you know how to feed yourself, and you know not to let any strangers in. I'll take you to school myself tomorrow, to make sure you know how to get there. You know how to build a fire and keep the place clean, and I'll be relying on you to do that." She took one of the bronze keys and tied a piece of twine from her pack through the hold at the top, so it was just the size for Kyrwan to slip around his wrist. She handed it to him, "Don't lose this. I'm trusting you, because you've always done what's right before, and you're a good boy despite yourself, I think."

"Yes, Kyla," he said.

"This is an opportunity for us, Kyrwan," she said, "In Barnslow you wouldn't have had any choice but to become a butcher like Dad, or maybe a tanner if you were lucky. Here, you can be anything you want to be. You can go to a real school, you can learn to be a bookkeeper or a navigator or great scholar."

"Or a pirate."

"Yes, or a pirate, but a pirate that can do complicated math and read all of the great literature," she said, "I need you to do this for me, Kyrwan. You have a real chance here, like I never did. Promise me you'll do your best."

"I promise," he said.

"Good," she said, "Now let's go exploring."

He followed her through the narrow streets of the Luskan Docks. First, they went to a dress shop owned by a young seamstress. He hung back in the corner, his face scarlet to be seen at a woman's shop like this, while Kyla picked out a fine dress, finer than the coarse wool and cotton shifts she'd worn as the butcher's daughter of Barnslow. Then they went to the green grocer's and bought some vegetables. They were sorry-looking compared to the ones that Kyla had grown in her garden, but they would do. The final stop was at an apothecary's shop. By this time it was dark out, and the lamplighters had come around to the major streets, but the back alley where the apothecary was located was lit only by the lights from the open windows on the top floors. Kyla made him wait outside, where he stood, kicking stones along the street.

It happened in such a hurry that he wasn't sure what it was he'd just seen. A boy ran down the street. He was in his mid teens, and wearing a black cloak. As he sprinted past, Kyrwan caught a glimpse of a ring on his finger with an insignia of a circle of blades. He reached the end of the street, where it ended in a dead end. Kyrwan heard him utter a whimper of fear as he realized he was trapped. Rather than give up, the boy started to climb, trying to get from the street to the rooftops and escape, but a bolt of magic hit him in the back and knocked him to the cobblestones where he landed with a loud crack.

"You pathetic fool," a voice came from up the street. Bishop looked to see a middle-aged man dressed in the robes of a mage walking slowly towards the boy, "I will send your heart back to the Circle of Blades in a box for daring to make an attempt for the life of one of the Hosttower!"

The boy writhed in pain as he tried to rise, "It was ordered," he said.

"I don't give a damn _what _was ordered," the mage growled. He started to weave a spell, the purple energy glowing between his hands. He stood there, silent a moment.

"Please," the boy begged, "Please, spare me. I'm to be married..."

"Then at least you'll have someone to mourn for you," the mage said, "Pathetic assassins, sending a beardless apprentice after me! Such an insult."

Kyrwan didn't quite know what spurred him into actions. Perhaps it was the boy's obvious pain, or the arrogant smirk with which the mage spoke, but without first thinking, he ran up and jumped on the mage's back, putting his arm around his throat and interrupting the spell. He clung on for dear life as the mage tried to shake him off. The boy scrambled to his feet. A knife flashed in the dull light from the windows, and then it was buried in the mage's chest. Kyrwan jumped off before he fell. The mage died quickly with a guttural rattle, his life blood spilling from the wound and running in tiny rivers between the cobblestones.

"You saved my life," the boy said, turning to Kyrwan, "Why?"

"I didn't like him," Kyrwan said, "Please don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you, kid," he said. He was fairly tall, with bright green eyes and blond hair tied back against the nape of his neck, "I'm sorry you had to see that. People usually don't let their children wander the streets alone this late at night. Where's your mother?"

"My mother's dead," he said, "My sister is in the shop there." He pointed to the apothecary shop.

The boy nodded slowly, glancing up at the shop, "Your sister's gotten herself into some trouble then. Are you new here?"

"Just arrived this morning," Kyrwan said, "From Barnslow."

"Ahh, a Neverwinter lad!" the boy said, "I'm from there myself. West Harbor. Look, you've saved my life. I don't have any money, but I'll do you a good turn one day, I promise."

Kyla exited the shop at that moment, looking even more exhausted than before. She carried a small package under her arm. She froze, taking in the river of blood on the street, the corpse of the mage, and the teenage assassin.

"Is this your sister?" the boy asked.

Kyrwan nodded. Kyla looked at him suspiciously, "What's going on?" she asked.

"Your little brother saved my life," he said, "And so I owe him – and you by proxy – a debt. What's your name?"

"Kyla Bishop," Kyla said, extending a hand. The boy shook it.

"My name's Dayven Elhandrien," he said, "Where do you work?"

"The Cuckoo's Nest," she said.

"Ah! I know that place well, I'm good friends with Kath, the owner. I imagine I'll be seeing you there!"

"I imagine you will," Kyla said, "You're a little young for the drink, aren't you?"

"I'm seventeen," Dayven replied, puffing up his chest.

"Huh," Kyla replied, "Well very well then, I appreciate you not getting my brother into any more trouble that is needed. We'll be going now, before anyone else gets killed."

"This is Luskan, sweetheart," Dayven said, "Someone's bound to be killed sometime soon."

"I'll take my chances," Kyla said, "I'll see you around, Master Elhandrien."

"I'm sure I will," Dayven replied, "And your brother too."


	21. The Dying Tree

"How are you holding up, my lemming?" Gann asked, "Are you feeling queasy?"

"No," Adahni replied, "I'm feeling mostly myself." In fact, the satisfaction of cleansing the sacred island and restoring the spirit sanctuary made her feel more herself than she had in the near month that had passed since she had arrived in Rashemen. As a pirate, a robber on the sea, she had sort of forgotten the soaring feeling of performing a noble deed. There were perks to being the Knight Captain of Crossroad Keep, not the least of them the sense that she was doing more good in the world than evil.

"If you hadn't noticed," Okku rumbled, "The Wood Man has failed to appear. I imagine there is more to this taint than one tribe of Frost Giants."

"So you don't think it's a Frost Giant taint?" Adahni asked, snickering under her breath, "Whose taint do you think it is?"

"It's certainly not an arcane taint. Not a mage's taint at all," Safiya said, catching Adahni's eye, and the two women began to giggle.

"I suppose we must next figure out exactly whose taint it is," Adahni said, and broke into laughter.

"You are feeling more yourself," Safiya sighed, "Dirty jokes and all."

The group had started meandering south through the trees. Adahni could not shake the feeling that the trees were not what they seemed. She could have sworn a couple of times that the forest and moved and reshaped itself behind her, but every time she turned, nothing was happening.

"What's so dirty about the word taint?" asked Kaelyn, furrowing her brows.

"Nothing," Safiya and Adahni chorused, happy to giggle immaturely about something like that, but not willing to explain it to the austere cleric.

"You are a strange woman," Kaelyn observed, "Yet I trust you. I think you are more than you let on."

"You sound like someone I once knew," Adahni said, her thoughts falling on noble Casavir, who had breathed his last in her arms beneath the stones, "His name was Casavir. A paladin of Tyr." She was silent a moment, an image in her memory of the paladin standing with her atop a tower at Crossroad Keep, watching the twinkling torches as the Neverwinter Army retreated from Highcliff. She had felt sick to her stomach, knowing that it was close to the end, but Casavir's face had been oddly calm, and his calm eased her worry. It had been a long time that she had been able to remember him without a little bitterness at the unpleasantness that had gone on between them over the year, and dread that the image of his empty blue eyes staring at nothing under the earth would appear involuntarily.

"I will take that as a compliment," Kaelyn said, "I can see from your face it was someone you admired greatly." She paused a moment.

"I did," Adahni said, "He left us too young. I can only hope that he is somewhere better."

"He is," Kaelyn said, "Tyr takes care of his own."

Adahni nodded. She had always found Cas's faith to be a little overbearing, but was glad that it had served him well in the end. This thought came again with a nagging fear that she had been trying to put out of his mind for weeks, since the storm on the Sea of Fallen Stars. Bishop did not speak of following a god. She knew that he'd never followed one before – the rituals of the assassins who were followers of the mad god Cyric would be enough to put anybody off religion. Since he'd rescued her from death beneath the Mere, he had changed to be sure, the world did not weigh on his shoulders as it had before. She had never asked him if he'd found a faith. She didn't consider it her business. But now..._what if he __died in the storm without ever following a god?_

"What is the Wall of the Faithless?" she asked, "I have heard tell of it, but was never quite sure of its nature."

Kaelyn was silent a moment, "It is punishment for those who do not follow a god. A great wall, built of the dead, locked in torment for eternity until they are absorbed into it. Though there is some debate, some believe that no soul is truly absorbed into the wall and stops existing. There are those who say that the torment overcomes the person such that they can no longer cry out in pain, and must suffer in silence until the end of eternity."

"What about people who follow an evil god?" Adahni asked, lowering one eyebrow, "Surely they are punished?"

"They go to the side of their god," Kaelyn said, "Good, evil, or neither, those who follow a god are rewarded in the afterlife."

"So only those who are faithless are punished?" Adahni asked, "That doesn't seem fair. It seems like it's much worse to be evil than faithless. The faithless have never gone out of their way to harm others, to make others suffer. Why should they be punished so?"

Kaelyn sighed, "I have often wondered the same thing myself," she said, "Let us talk of something brighter, this talk of eternal punishment sets me ill at ease. If you wish to know more, I am sure the priests of Kelemvor will have some volumes on them."

"You're telling me," Adahni said, "Very well, I will sate my curiosity at another time."

"Sing us a song, Addie!" Gann said, "Kaelyn's right, this is all entirely too dark for a such a lovely snowy day."

Though feeling rather sour – and a bit nauseous – Adahni agreed, thinking that perhaps her bardic magic might work to lighten her own mood as well as those of her companions. Her years on the high seas had expanded her repertoire greatly, "What kind of song?" she asked.

"Sing a love song," Safiya, who had been quiet before, said.

"A song of simple folk," Kaelyn said, "Of the peasants who work the land and do not need to bother themselves with grand questions of good and evil."

Adahni chuckled, "I'll do my best." Most of the time, when a song was requested of her, the appropriate one would come to her on the winds. She had a long memory for songs, and a wide repertoire of tunes she'd learned from Kuldahar in the north to Athkatla in the south. She'd picked up a few ditties from the coast of the Sea of Fallen Stars, but didn't really care too greatly for the type of music favored there. Perhaps it was because one always prefers the familiar, but she found the music of Thay, which unlike the music of the Sword Coast, did not fit itself into simple, rising and falling memories, that would resolved themselves at the end, rather unsatisfying. The music she had heard in her travels, wailing, modal melodies garnished with what Adahni found to be excessive vocal ornamentation was usually accompanied by the guttural low strings of the oud and occasionally a reeded instrument called a ney. She had picked up an oud at a port town just as they'd come into the Sea of Fallen Stars. It was not unlike the pear-bellied mandolins she had played in Neverwinter, and with proper tuning she could barely tell the difference.

Without mandolin or oud on this journey, she thought of a song she had heard sung by a couple of the plowboys who would come yearly by Westharbor to seek wages from the farmers. They stayed in a series of rooming houses along the swamp, and at night they would build a fire in the center of the little bothy village and share the songs they had heard as they traveled the Sword Coast looking for work. This one was a call and response, meant to be a conversation between a young man and the girl he was in love with. The boy who'd sung it had the raspy baritone of one whose voice has just changed, the girl (there were a few girls among them after all) had a sweet high soprano, well suited to the role of the innocent village lass. Adahni had been nine when she heard it, and immediately gone home and tried to pick out the song on her mandolin. It had a modal and primitive melody, which she recalled as she began to sing.

_Oh lass, would you think it right_

_To go with me this very night_

_To lie down til the morning light_

_To all the rest unseen-o_

_And ye will be my dearie_

_My own dearest dearie_

_And ye will be my dearie _

_If you meet me this e'en-o_

_I cannot for my mother dear_

_She locks the door and keeps the key_

_And in the morning checks on me_

_And tells me of the men-o_

_She says they are deceivers_

_Deceivers, deceivers_

_She says they are deceivers, _

_Ye cannot trust a one-o_

As Adahni took a breath to sing the next verse, that which was supposed to be sung by the lad who'd begun the song, she got the sudden feeling that they were not alone. This was confirmed, as from somewhere in the woods, a deep and breathy voice began to sing with her, answering her verse.

_Do not mind your mother's yellin'_

_It's how she met your dad herself_

_And if she objects you can just tell her_

_She's often done the same-o_

_So lassie give your hand out_

_Your bonnie, lily hand out_

_So lassie give your hand out_

_And scorn to lie alone-o_

The companions froze and looked around for where the voice was coming from, but it had stopped. Before it did, Adahni could have sworn it was coming from the bottom of a small hill, further along the path.

"Keep singing," Safiya said, "See if he answers."

_Lad my hand I cannot give_

_But maybe I can steal the key_

_And meet you at yon birkin tree_

_That grows down in the glen-o_

_But don't count on it laddie_

_I cannot promise laddie_

_I cannot proise, laddie_

_In case I cannot win-o_

On cue, the voice boomed out over the snowy woods, singing the next verse.

_So he's gone to the birkin tree  
>In hopes his own true to see<br>And who came trippin' o'er the lea  
>But just his bonnie Jean O<br>And she's lain down beside him  
>Beside him, beside him<br>She's lain beside him  
>Among the grass so green O <em>

The companions made it down to the bottom of the hill, where the source of the mysterious singer made itself apparent. At first, they thought it was simply a fallen log, but as they approached it, the branches of the fallen tree began to swish back and forth in the snow, and Adahni could make out a face in the bark.

"That song always makes my heart feel light," the treant said. He could not seem to get himself upright, but he rolled over so that he could look at the companions, "My first love was a birkin tree," he sighed, "But she is gone in the blight, and soon so will I be."

At the mention of the blight, Adahni began to smell it, as she had at the great oak in the center of the forest. She managed to keep her stomach in check this time, mostly because there was nothing in it to throw up.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Gnarlthorn," the treant said, "And as you can see I am half the tree I used to be. The blight that has haunted this forest has finally come for me. The forest is dying, and there is nothing I can do now that I no longer have the strength to walk."

"So are you saying that if you could walk, you would be able to do something about it?" Adahni asked.

The treant looked up at her, "And why is the eater of spirits asking me this? Are you not hear to devour me whole?"

"No," Adahni said, "I bet you'd taste disgusting, what with the blight and all. I am here to speak with the Wood Man, and so long as the forest is blighted, he will not show himself."

Gnarlthorn made a rumbling sound like two branches rubbing together in the wind, "So you are here to eat the Wood Man."

"No," she said again, "I am here to speak with him about ending my curse. In doing so, I believe I may end yours."

"Really," Gnarlthorn said, "Well, perhaps there _is _something you can do. In Immil Vale, two day's walk from here to the east and south, is a great Red Tree, a sacred space where the Rashemi may pray to Chauntea. It is said that there is a ritual that can be performed, with symbols of purity that will make it so the goddess cannot ignore your pleas."

"A ritual?" Adahni asked, knitting her brows.

"Yes," Gnarlthorn said, "You need three untainted things from these woods."

"Gods ask such ridiculous things," Adahni sighed, "Why do we need those?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's something for Chauntea to know and the rest of us to leave a mystery," Gnarlthorn said, "I don't know why the Gods ask half the things they ask of us."

Gann looked thoughtful for a moment, "Well I did fill my waterskin with water from that island there."

"From the stump?" Adahni said, "Really?"

"Well, I mean, it's sacred, right? So it must be better," the hagspawn said smugly, "Either way, I think that's about the purest thing I've managed to come across in this place."

"Here," Gnarlthorn said. He stretched out one of his topmost branches towards them, "I think these leaves from my head will do." Adahni plucked them, and the treant winced, but did not yelp, "Make your way to Immil Vale. I imagine you will be able to find yet another symbol on your journey, for it will be a good two day's journey."

"I hope someone thought to bring a tent," Adahni said.

"I've got us covered," Safiya said, "I've got a few trinkets pilfered from the academy. I think you'll be impressed with Thayan magic."

"Anything's better than some moldy old thing," Adahni said. The tent that she and her companions had traveled the lengths of Neverwinter and Luskan territory was a thrift store find and smelled rather like the changing room in the Neverwinter Watchman's headquarters where the stench of a thousand sweaty people hung in the air.

They bid Gnarlthorn farewell, and went along their way. As they followed the snowy path that would lead them out of the woods and into Immil Vale, they heard the dying treant singing slowly to himself.

_For she has got her Johnny  
>Her ain lovin' Johnny<br>It's she has got her Johnny  
>And Johnny's got his Jean O <em>


	22. Through the Burning Grove

Safiya's tent was quite a feat of arcane engineering. She took it out of her satchel, and it looked no bigger than a scarf, and no thicker than silk. She threw it in the air like a juggler, where it hung for a moment like a leaf on the wind, and zapped it with some energy from a short, thick wand that she produced from the same satchel. The square of cloth was caught by the energy, and it was though it unfurled, revealing quite a lovely structure, white and black silk that nearly disappeared against the background of the snowy woods, something Adahni realized was probably quite clever when one did not want to be seen. The problem, though, was that it was no bigger than two men, standing back to back.

"Well go on in," Safiya said.

Keeping an open mind, Adahni walked in. As she had suspected, it was larger on the inside than the out, and contained five real beds and a firepit with merry blaze going below a grate suitable for cooking. Best of all, she noticed, a fully-stocked liquor cabinet in the corner.

"Same concept as a bag of holding," Safiya said, sounding quite satisfied with herself, "This project is what got me a job as an instructor at the academy. I still carry it everywhere."

"Remarkable," Adahni said, sitting down on one of the beds, finding it soft and comforting, especially after a week of narrow plank covered in furs that the witchboat was furnished with.

"Why Safiya!" Gann exclaimed, poking his head, and then the rest of him through, "This is extraordinary." Kaelyn echoed his sentiment. Okku was absent for around half an hour, but before Adahni could suggest they go looking for him, he arrived, half of the carcass of a freshly-killed deer dangling from his mouth. He dumped the bloody offering on the ground.

"...thanks," Safiya said.

"I got hungry," Okku said sheepishly, "I prefer my portion raw, anyway."

"Lovely!" Gann exclaimed. He produced a bone knife from somewhere in his belt and began skillfully cutting the skin away from the flesh. Okku had, kindly, already eaten most of the internal organs and gross parts, and so it wasn't much of a task to butcher three peoples' worth of and throw it on the cooking grate. Safiya picked up the remnants of the carcass and stuffed it through a hole in the tent wall.

"It goes to another plane," she said, "It's excellent for disposal."

"Somewhere, there's someone who owns the property on which you dump all of your food scraps," Adahni said.

"Dwellers on another plane," Safiya said, "It's a primitive one. Believe me, I did my research. They haven't even discovered magic yet. It's not like they'll be coming through to get me."

"I certainly hope not," Adahni said, eying the garbage hole with suspicion.

The four humans wolfed down the venison, happy for the fresh meat, but Adahni, for some reason, craved greens. She kept her thought to herself, knowing that finding anything leafy in this frozen wilderness would be an exercise in futility. She found herself drifting off to sleep listening to the four of her companions softly talking, and, thankfully, did not dream.

* * *

><p>The next day, they made their way to the southeast, through a gap in the mountains the separated the Ashenwood from Immil Vale. They moved closer to the great fire, and the smoke smell became more and more bothersome. Kaelyn, Safiya, and Gann soaked rags in melted snow and held them over their noses and mouth as their eyes watered and the linings of their lungs burned with inhaling the ash. Adahni's dragon blood kept her quite comfortable, though her eyes itched a bit, and Okku, being only partially of the plane, was unbothered.<p>

The heat rose greatly as they walked down the hill and a violent hot wind began to blow at them. _You think of fire as providing light, _Adahni thought, _but it is so dark here... _The orange glow of the fire was nothing in comparison to the light of the sun, which was entirely blotted out by the thick black smoke billowing skyward.

"We're going to have to work to stay together," she said, as the woods grew darker and the path more difficult to make out, "Can anyone see?"

"I can," Okku said, "Put your hand on my shoulder, Adahni." She groped out blindly, and breathed a sigh of relief as her hand made contact with Okku's soft fur.

"That's not my shoulder," the bear god said.

She chuckled, and move her hand up to his shoulder. She then reached behind her and felt Gann's dry blue hand grab hers. Kaelyn took Gann's other hand, and Safiya took hers, and following the old bear, they made their way through the fire. Safiya, Gann, and Kaelyn, kept their eyes closed to the acrid smoke, but Adahni left hers open, fascinated by the blackened landscape they moved through. She saw the flames licking around the trees of the grove, big and small, some of the larger fires dancing threateningly through the canopy. She looked up, and could have sworn she saw the flames actually leaping from tree to tree.

"Okku, I think my eyes are failing me," she said, "Do you see a living flame, up in the treetops?"

"That's just the Shape of Fire," Okku said, "Never mind him. He is a pesky little thing. He can burn the grove, but is not strong enough to destroy it. Ignore him, or he'll try to speak to you."

Adahni lowered her eyes from the treetops. Evidently, though, the presky little thing had other ideas. It began dancing in the lower branches, putting itself in front of her eyes, hissing things at her in a language she did not understand.

"All right!" she cried, "What do you want!"

The little fire thing leapt down from the branches. She could see that it was man-shaped, though it had no features, only the vague suggestion of arms and legs and a head.

"Is the Wood Man dead?" it asked.

"What?" Adahni asked.

"Is the Wood Man dead yet?" it asked.

"No," she replied, "At least I hope not. Why...?"

"Noooo!" howled the little spirit.

"Is that why you're burning the grove?" she asked.

"To weaken the Wood Man, yes," he said. He twitched a little, the flames that made up his head and hands flickering, "But you... you are the Spirit Eater, are you not?"

"Addie, whatever you're doing, can it wait until we're out of the smoke?" Kaelyn asked. A glance behind revealed that the cleric was scrunching her eyes tight, tears streaming out of them.

"Just a moment," Adahni said, "Yes, that's me."

"You must rid me of the Wood Man!" the spirit said, "You must!"

"Really, Addie, can we go?" asked Kaelyn, "I think Safiya is feeling faint, it's all I can do to keep hold of her hand."

"Very well," Adahni said, "Let's move. I have no time for this."

They made their way through the burning grove. By the time they got beyond the smoke, and everyone could breathe properly again, night had nearly fallen. Safiya set up her tent again, this time at the edge of a cliff. She had nearly coughed a lung up on their way through the smoke, and huddled in her bed, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief.

"What do you think that was?" Adahni asked.

"Shape of Fire is a silly little thing," Gann said, "He has a grudge against the Wood Man, at least that's what the whispers on the winds would have you believe. He burns the grove in order to weaken him."

"And why did he recognize me? What did he want?"

"I can only imagine that he thinks that by weakening the Wood Man by burning the grove, he can coax him out, so that you can devour him," Okku said.

"Do you think that burning the grove might be what's keeping the Wood Man hidden?" asked Adahni.

"I doubt it would on its own," Okku said, "If he were at his full strength he would squash Shape of Fire like the bug he is. But with the blight, and the death of the dryad of the pool, it may be that the burning grove has indeed kept the Wood Man in hiding."

"That was quite a fire," Safiya said. Her voice was hoarse and deep from breathing the smoke. As the only member of the band with only ordinary human blood pumping through her veins, she had evidently taken a much worse beating from the elements than Adahni and Kaelyn, with their celestial blood, and Gann, with his hag blood, "How do you propose to put it out?"

"Yes," Adahni said, looking from Okku to Gann and back again, "How is it that such a silly little creature has kept the wood burning for so long? And what might be powerful enough to extinguish it?"

"The Wood Man is weak," Okku said, "That is the only explanation I can think of off hand. As for extinguishing it... perhaps chaining the element of cold? Do you have any arcane spells that can do that?"

"Probably," Safiya said, "I'll have to consult my library." She went to one of the walls of the tent and opened a flap. She reached inside, her whole arm disappearing, and it withdrew a thick volume. She sat herself back down and began to flip through it.

"I've heard tell of a _bheur, _an ice hag, that resides in Immil Vale," Gann said, "She may have access to some magic."

"A what?"

"A bheur," Gann replied, "Don't try to pronounce it, foreigners can never do it properly. Just call her an ice hag. Night hags, whom I can claim as my own illustrious ancestors, walk in dreams, as I can. Ice hags are not nearly as interesting."

"What do they do?" asked Adahni.

"They make things cold," Gann said, "Yes, it's just as boring as it sounds."

"Brings a whole new meaning to the term "cold as a witch's..."" Adahni started.

"Found it!" Safiya interrupted her, "It's a simple spell, really, it's just been awhile." She sat crosslegged on the bed and started weaving a spell between her hands. The strands of the weave fed into it, and she molded it into what looked like a translucent snow ball, "It worked on the pond, I just had to amplify it bit, so it might work on some of the burning trees."

"So what's the verdict?" asked Adahni, "Do we look for this bh... bhe... ice hag? Or do you think you can take care of it, Safiya?"

"I have no desire to walk back into the burning grove," she said, "I would be willing to take another couple of days. I can try to get rid of the fire from the outside, but there's no way I could concentrate in the heart of the fire."

"Very well," Adahni said, "We make for Immil Vale tomorrow, in search of the..."

"Just call it an ice hag," Gann said.

"But it's not as authentic," Adahni said.

"You care about stupid things," Gann replied, "Let us sleep some. Safiya is not well, and the way into Immil Vale is not long, but it is steep, and we will have to make it four times if we are to extinguish the fire before petitioning Chauntea."

"Well look at you, being sensible for a change," Adahni said, nodding approvingly, "Whatever you say, sir."

"I rather like it when you call me sir," Gann said. He pulled the covers over his head, and snuggled up happily under them. Adahni buried her head in the pillow and did the same, falling asleep almost immediately.

* * *

><p><em>She was in Luskan, in an apartment she didn't recognize. It was larger than Dayven's flat, or her room above the Cuckoo's Nest. She was sitting at the kitchen table in front of a large plate of beet greens. She devoured them hungrily. Across the table was Dayven, the old Dayven, before he had given himself over to the drug Cyric's Madness. Handsome, blond-haired, green-eyed Dayven, whom she had fallen so madly in love with when she was little more than a child.<em>

_The front door opened and in stormed a child. A boy, blond, with pale brown eyes like Adahni. He was around ten. _

"_Mama! Mama!" he exclaimed, "I've passed my exams!"_

_Adahni was quiet a moment, and then realized that he was talking to her, "What... congratulations?"_

"_Good job, my boy!" Dayven said, picking the kid up and pulling him into his lap, "Your mother and I are so proud of you!" _

"_Yes, of course," she said, "I'll make you a cake. A special cake." She got up. She had an instinct for where things were kept in the kitchen. It must have been _her _kitchen. And Dayven was not dead, and they were still married, and the boy was..._

_...the boy was the baby she had lost the day after she and Dayven had been married. _

She awoke in a cold sweat, the night still dark around her. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her racing heart. _If things had been different, _she thought, staring up at the ceiling of Safiya's fine tent, _If Dayven hadn't fallen so far. If those thugs hadn't been me to a pulp in my fourth month of pregnancy. _She paused, _But how would that have turned out? I still would have had the shard. I still would have had to defeat the King of Shadows... I would still be here in Rashemen. The gargoyles from Lienna's rooms-beyond-rooms would have dragged me here. The difference is I would have a child..._

Now that was a strange thought. She knew people with babies, but babies weren't really people. If she had not miscarried the pregnancy, her child would have been nine. Old enough to read, to write, to have thoughts, to perform elementary magic, to play the harp...

She'd never really mourned the loss of the child, or thought too long on the fact that the violent miscarriage had left her barren. She allowed herself to fantasize for a short moment about teaching the kid to play the mandolin, kissing scrapes and making cakes... and then she put that part of herself away. The choice had been made for her, whether she would ever be a mother. She had herself to take care of, and she could barely do that. She pulled the covers back over her head, and went back to sleep.


	23. The Lovers Reunited

_He was in the camp, waiting for Malin to return. He was sweating, though it wasn't particularly hot out. He was going to tell her something. His heart was racing, the perspiration dripping down his chin. He'd been here before, told her something... this was a dream but also a memory...He wasn't sleeping, he'd been knocked out..._

_She arrived, making far too much noise, as she always had, crunching through the falling leaves. Her face was pale, her eyes tired. He was surprised that he remembered what she looked like. Slight, light-skinned half-elf. Her face had taken on a haunted look. _

"_Don't worry," she said, "I've taken care of it."_

* * *

><p>He was jolted awake by a sudden motion. He looked around, his vision blurry, and realized that he was in Rafa's boat, and they had just taken off from the dock out back of Hayat Ensaan's house.<p>

"And how in the hells was I supposed to know he was not one of Hayat's thugs?" a woman's voice asked.

He tried to move, his limbs felt sluggish and frozen. His vision was clearing, but very slowly. He was thankful that he recognized the voice that responded as that of Rafa the boatman, and not of some jailer that had caught him, red-handed, in the mayor's house.

"Good gods, Shiren, does he _look _like a thug?" Rafa's voice responded, sounding exasperated.

"He _looks _like some sunburnt foreigner," the woman's voice replied.

Bishop rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He could see passably, now, but his brain was slow to register and place the images his eyes were taking in. He explored his scalp with both hands, finding a rapidly rising goose egg. He felt sick and tired, the pain radiating from the bruise on his head and reaching his very fingers and toes.

"Well good, at least you didn't kill him," Rafa said, noticing that the stranger had come to and glancing down at him, "Are you all right, Keowan?"

Bishop felt about with his hands. The damp planks of the boat, the leather of Rafa's shoes He was lying on the bottom, with Rafa crouched over him, and a young woman who could only have been Shiren at the stern with the pole in her hands. The were moving sideways across the river, and he could see Shiren struggling with the pole against the strong current. His vision cleared rapidly as he struggled to sit up, and then promptly vomited over the side of the boat, his right hand curled around Rafa's calf for support. He felt the blood rush to his eyes as he retched. _Why in the hells did we rescue her? What in the hell happened in there?_

"Gods almighty," he said, between heaves, giving voice to the thoughts he'd had, "What happened?"

"I'm sorry, stranger," Shiren said. She had husky voice, not mannish, but she sounded older than her years, which Bishop would have estimated at seventeen if he'd been asked, "Yesterday, when it became clear that no amount of my tears would dissuade Hayat from his intent, I offered to cook him a meal, as a wife ought to for her husband. He's a foolish man, he thought I had actually had a change of heart, and so he brought me ingredients – the finest wild venison from the herds that roam the tundras, and vegetables whose names I don't even know. I cooked all day, and invited all of the servants and guards to partake in the stew... which I had, of course, sprinkled liberally with a powerful sedative."

"I have to admit," Bishop said, and then paused as another torrent of puke made its away from his stomach, up and out of his mouth, "That's terribly clever."

"A girl does what she must," Shiren said. In the moonlight, her skin looked pale, though he imagined she was swarthy and black-haired like most Thayans. He understood why a man like Hayat Ensaan would try to buy her, and to kidnap her when that failed. For men like Hayat, a woman as beautiful as Shiren was final proof of their worth, proof that no matter how fat or otherwise unappealing they were, they could best ordinary men in every way – even having a lovely wife to haul out at dinner parties. He also understood how she had had to figure out to defend herself, just as Kyla and Addie had. Beauty had a price.

"And you had planned to what?" Rafa said, "Knock them all out, and sneak back across the river yourself?"

She chuckled lowly. His vision was still a bit blurry, but he could see that they were rapidly approaching the town dock, "I can swim, after all," she said.

They reached the dock and Rafa lept out onto it, his long legs straddling the boat and shore for a moment as he went. He grabbed a line and tied up the boat.

"Can you walk?" he asked.

"I think so," Bishop said. He rose, but immediately the world swirled around his head and he found himself tipping this way and that, until he landed with a splash in the river. The current started to take him, and he flailed out with both hands, looking for something to grab onto. He went under, once, twice, and then, to his relief, Rafa grabbed him under both arms and hauled him onto the river bank. He turned over, vomiting again, "Gods, you know you could have _asked _before knocking me over the head with a damn frying pan, woman!"

"I'm surprised a man like you wasn't on his guard," Shiren said, "You were lucky it was just me with a frying pan, and not one of Hayat's goons with an arrow in your back." But, she lent him support, slinging his arm over her shoulder while Rafa held up from the other side, and wiped the puke off of his chin with the tail of her headscarf.

It took them nearly half an hour to get to Abu-Nisah's house, even after Bishop had recovered enough to walk on his own. The old man was beside himself to have his granddaughter back, covered her face with kisses, and held her so tightly she complained that she could not breathe. He had a spare healing potion in his trunk, which he gladly gave to Bishop, who was grateful for the respite from the pain and nausea, and happy that the ridiculous-looking swelling on his head went down quickly after a shot of the slightly sweet blue liquid.

"Now that we are all here," Rafa said, "We need to have a talk. Keowan, when did you say your crew would be by?"

"I imagine that I am no more than three days ahead of them," Bishop said, "But there is the possibility that they will have been delayed. It would be careless of me not to warn you of that. I did not anticipate Shiren herself being the instrument of Hayat's undoing."

"I should have known my Shiren would not simply wait around to be rescued," Abu-Nisah said.

"It does make things interesting, for us," Rafa said, his eyes on the fire, "Surely they will not allow such a deed to go unpunished. Poisoning the mayor, and then making a fool of him. If it is indeed true that the stranger's crew will be coming up river, it may be prudent for us to... leave town for a bit."

"He's right," Shiren said, "The poison I fed them will keep them asleep for a day, and sick for a day after that, but after that, there is no telling what they would do to us should they find us here."

The three of them looked at Bishop.

"What do you want from me?" he asked. He was still wallowing in the ecstasy of his head not hurting like a nest of hornets had been shoved into one of his ears.

"Let us travel with you," Shiren said, "It is nearly a week's journey to Thaymount, and the roads are dangerous for a stranger in this land. The Red Wizards rule that city with an iron fist."

"I don't do roads," Bishop said, "And this is turning out to be more than I bargained for. I have spent a good deal of my life wandering the land, trying not to be caught. And I have to say, the rare occasions when I have been tracked down, it is because a companion or two of mine has been careless."

"With all due respect, stranger," Rafa said, "If you are looking for your love, beyond Thay into Rashemen, then four pairs of eyes are better than one."

"Ah, so the stranger has a quest of his own!" Shiren said, smirking, her black eyes sparkling in the firelight. She was seated a respectable two or so feet away from Rafa, but Bishop could see that, under the table around which they sat, her hand grasp his knee tightly. He felt a pang of jealousy.

"Ah yes," Rafa said, "It seems we are not the only two starcrossed lovers in this tale," he grinned, "What did you say her name was? Adona?"

"Adahni," Bishop corrected him.

Abu-Nisah cleared his throat, "I see that none of you have bothered to consult your elder on this matter. I have been walking this world for longer than the three of you combined, and I believe that that has earned me the right to have my voice heard."

"I apologize, Granddad," Shiren said, "What would you have us do?"

"Why, follow the stranger, of course!" Abu-Nisah said, his green eyes disappearing into a web of wrinkles as he grinned. Bishop was impressed to see that the old man had all of his teeth, though they were a rather sickly shade of yellow, "Go on an adventure! It has been so long..."

"Are you sure you can keep the pace with us, Uncle?" Bishop asked, "If Hayat Ensaan has fifty herdsmen in his employ, we will have to hurry."

"Oh, pish posh!" the old man exclaimed, "I can wrestle a full grown bull to the ground and catch a hog who's had a five minute head start. I'm probably nimbler on my feet than young Rafa here. And handier with a knife."

"I know the land," Rafa said, "I know every twist and bend of the river, I know where the fish come to spawn, I know which of the weeds are edible."

"And you, Shiren, what can you do?" asked Bishop, looking at the young woman, who smirked in return.

"I can defeat a household of guards and servants with one sprig of one plant grown in the gardens," she said, "I suppose you can bring down men with that bow on your back? I can make the arrows fell the strongest men even if you barely nick the skin."

"You're rather frightening, aren't you," Bishop said, "I like that. You're a lucky man, Rafa. Imagine if you were on her bad side."

Shiren chuckled, "We all have our uses in this world, do we not?"

"I suppose we do," Rafa said, "Very well. We set out for Thaymount. I will tell my mother to send word when Hayat is defeated, and we may return."

"And be married properly," Abu-Nisah said, "And if you two think you'll be sharing a bedroll on this journey, you are sorely mistaken."

"Yes, Granddad," Shiren said, her face going red.

"It's settled, then!" Abu-Nisah said, clapping his dry, gnarled hands together in excitement, "We're off to Thaymount!"

"Very well," Bishop said, "And perhaps you might advise me on a bargain I must make with the wizards there."

"And what bargain is that?" Shiren asked.

"My ship needs passage to Mulsantir," Bishop said.

"Ahhh," Rafa said, "Now that is expensive. You're asking them to change the very course of the river. Of course... they say that the headmistress of the Academy is a very powerful wizard, almost godlike in her talents."

"We'll see," Bishop said, "For now, we must away. Pack what you need, Rafa, go speak to your mother. I will meet you on the northern road out of town in one hour. Whatever you do on this journey, I need you to trust what I tell you, and for all the gods' sake... listen to me."

"Very well," Abu-Nisah said, "An adventure begins! Just what I need to round out a full life!"

"I wish you wouldn't say it like that," Shiren said, "It sounds like it will bring bad luck."

"I think you'll find," Bishop said, "That luck is quite overrated."


	24. Prayers for Death

_Twelve years ago, Luskan, Luskan Territory_

* * *

><p>On the first day of school, Kyrwan realized quickly that he was quite far behind the other boys his age. He knew how to read, Mum had made sure of that, but it had never occurred to him that he would be required to read dense, dry texts, full of words he had never heard anybody use. The first day, two middle class boys, the sons of merchants, tackled him in the schoolyard and stolen two of his books and a charcoal pencil they all used in their exercises. The third day, he and four other boys whose mothers were barmaids or whose fathers swept the streets, took down the merchants' sons, bloodied their noses, and took their pocket money. The fourth week, he had amassed a notebook full of words he'd read and didn't know, and every day he would go to the teacher, an absentminded by kind old man whom everyone, even the parents, knew only as 'Schoolmaster' and make him sit there and explain them to him.<p>

By the time he was ten, he was getting good marks, and had begun to be bored with his lessons. He swiped books from the local merchants, reading under his desk of the lore of the country surrounding Luskan and Neverwinter. He didn't care much for stories of high-meaning heroes and their improbably pliant ladies – he found most of the fiction of the day to be full of disingenuously good knights and virtuous mages and all sorts of unrealistic characters. What he loved were the true stories, the diaries written by ladies in waiting or hunters, and the journals kept by adventurers that explained how to track animals, how to survive in the wilderness. He began to dream of leaving the walls of Luskan and living off the land in a hut he would build for himself.

Kyla was absent a lot during those years. She worked nights. More often than not, he would awake to find her sound asleep in her bed, having come in the wee hours of the morning, and then find her gone when he came home from school. She would leave him money to pay the landlord and Schoolmaster, and money to buy bread and vegetables and meat from the butcher downstairs when the money was good. Some days there wasn't much left over after the rent and his tuition were paid, and he would steal or hunt pigeons with his slingshot, never telling Kyla where the mysterious meat had come from. He would keep the flat reasonably clean, wash the laundry twice a month. He became quite adept at getting blood out of his sister's bedclothes.

He pretended he didn't know what she was doing. More than once, he snuck out after dark and peered in the window of the bar called the Cuckoo's Nest. He saw her, through the window, dancing with one man or another, the black rose tucked into her bodice marking her as one of the ladies of the evening. He could see the bags under her eyes, poorly disguised with face paints. The other girls, some young, some old, all had the same tired look to them. The first time he saw her, he felt like he'd been punched in the gut, but the more times he saw, the less it hurt, seeing what she was doing. Then one of the barmaids, a little woman with black hair scarcely taller than he, had chased him off, calling him a little pervert and to come back when he was grown and had some money.

He heard a low chuckle as he headed off into the alley, his cheeks scarlet and his hands in his back pocket, "She's a real ball-buster."

He looked up to see Dayven, the assassin he'd met the first night he was in Luskan. He was leaning against the outside of the building, swigging out of a flask.

"Hello," Kyrwan said, cautiously.

"That one," Dayven said. He stepped out into the gaslight, his gait a bit unsteady. He was drunk, though it was barely past sundown. He pointed at the barmaid as she sauntered back into the bar, "My Addie, she's a ball-buster."

"That's your girl?" Kyrwan asked, and went back to the window to get a closer look at her. She had gotten back to the bar, which he could see through the window, and was filling up mugs at the keg, a smoke dangling from between her lips.

"Aye," Dayven said, "She just tossed me out on the curb, said I'd drank too much already. That's the problem with womenfolk, always thinking they know what's best for you."

Kyrwan looked at him skeptically. He was lurching about. He wondered if the little barmaid weren't right.

"Don't ever," Dayven said, all of a sudden getting down in the boy's face, breathing a hot breath that stank of rum all over him, "Don't ever let some bitch boss you around, not ever, not your sister, not your boss, not your girl if you ever get one. You make your own path. You be your own man."

"Yes sir," Kyrwan said.

"You ever think of being an assassin, kid?" he asked. He tried to get up, but lost his balance, and fell on his ass in the street. He looked around, laughed, and said, "You'd be good at it. You just can't get caught when you're spying on ladies like you just were."

"I wasn't spying," he replied, "I was keeping Kyla safe."

"What do you mean by that, lad?" he asked.

"She comes home, her face all bruised, bleeds all over," Kyrwan said, "I wanna see who's doing it to her."

"You don't wanna do that," Dayven said, "It'll just be trouble for you."

"She's my sister, I want to protect her."

"Oh, lad," he said, "You can't protect her. Only the gods can protect a girl in her line of work. All you can do is pray."

"I don't pray," he said, looking back through the window. Kyla was talking to a man, and old fat one with rings sparkling on his fingers, "What's the point. Nobody listens. I prayed every night for Dad to die, and he's still walking Toril while Mum's in the ground."

"You pray for a man to die?" Dayven said, "Now that… that's something different. There's no sense in praying for a man to die. You want a man to die, you kill him. I could show you to do that."

"Could you?" asked Kyrwan. He looked through the window, watching the fat man, and thinking how amusing it would be if he got all apopleptic and died, redface, right there in the bar.

"Well not now," Dayven said, chuckling, "Your sister'd have my balls. You're too young. Someday, you'll be old enough to come to us of your own accord."

"Really," Kyrwan said. He was watching through the window. The fat man was stroking his sister's cheek, and then had seized her by the jaw. Kyla never stopped smiling through the whole thing, though she had the same look in her eye as when Dad used to beat her, "How old?"

"Sixteen," Dayven said, "Though we take orphans at fourteen."

"I'm an orphan. Kyla and me. Our mum's dead."

"Like I said, she'd have my balls if I took you before you were of age," Dayven said, "But someday. Anyway, I need you to do me a favor. Walk me back to the flat, it's across the street from yours. I fear my dear Addie was right, I need to sleep this off."

Kyrwan let Dayven hold himself up on his shoulder as they made their way home. He couldn't sleep that night. He looked out at the night sky, wondering how long it would be before he was no longer a helpless child.


	25. The Blood of the Earth

When the sun came up, Addie could see that the burning grove was far in the distance, though the billowing smoke clouds were still visible. They packed up their things, Safiya put her marvelous tent back into her bag, and they looked out over the cliff.

"It's warmer here," Adahni observed, "And not because of the fire. It's a different kind of warmth."

"It's always warm in Immil Vale," Gann said, "Is that not true of your homeland? Neverwinter, right?"

"Bit of a misnomer," Adahni said, "It never snows in Neverwinter, for sure, and it's certainly warmer than the areas around it, but the winds blow just as cold in from the sea. This reminds me of a place high in the mountains, where the spirit of a dragon was chained in undeath. High in the mountains, even in late autumn, it was warm."

"No dragons here, my lemming," Gann said, "Only a great fire mountain."

"We've got those too," Adahni said, "Although there are those who say that the fire of Mount Galardrym was the result of a powerful red dragon, and not the blood of the earth spilling forth."

"Sometimes I have no idea what you're talking about," Gann said, "Though I must admit it sounds very poetic. There's a path down to the bottom, here, it takes a few hairpin turns."

"Is there any local wildlife we need to watch out for?" asked Safiya.

"It is always best to be on ones guard," Okku said, "There are some warm-weather creatures drawn here that do not exist in the rest of Rashemen. Some lesser dragons, I believe I have heard tell of." The companions made their way down the path, which indeed took several hairpin turns. Adahni was glad for it. Her knees and ankles had been aching and swelling something awful for the past several days. She imagined it was probably the cold, and hoped they would improve as they got into the warmth of the Vale.

"The tree that Gnarlthorn spoke of is here," Kaelyn said, "As is the _bheur. _What might be of interest as well, though, is the Moss-stone. It is said that those who slumber beneath it are blessed – or cursed – with prophetic dreams."

"Dreams are rarely a curse," Gann said, "At least when I'm involved."

"I told you to stay out of those," Adahni warned. Up ahead, she saw Safiya blush. Outside of the city of Mulsantir, they had stopped covering her tattoos and bald head, and now she could see the blood rise to her scalp, "Oh, gods, you two haven't been..."

"No!" Safiya exclaimed, "Gods, of course not! The blue bastard crept into my mind last night and caught me in the middle of something."

"Now, now," Gann said, "We all have dreams about old lovers now and then, I was just curious."

"Curiosity can kill a hagspawn," Safiya said, her face a furious scarlet, "Have you forgotten what we red wizards can do when we put our minds to it?"

"Good Gods," Adahni sighed, "Gann, I understand you've become accustomed to being alone, but please can you try to remember that at least for now, you have to see us on a daily basis?"

"I had no idea it would be considered impolite!" he exclaimed, "Most women love it when I stumble upon their dreams. You would be amazed at how many unsatisfied housewives have welcomed me into their arms while they slept."

"Yes," Safiya said, "It's amazing how many women want you that don't actually _know _you." She folded her arms across her chest and exhaled sharply through her nose. Gann stopped in his tracks and threw his hands up, evidently utterly baffled.

"I just don't understand. Do you, Okku?" he asked, "You're male, are all women like this when they're awake?"

"I haven't been interested in a female for millenia," Okku said, "I'm a spirit, remember?"

"Kaelyn?" Gann appealed.

"Have servants of Ilmater ever been known for their knowledge of the flesh?" the celestial asked, stretching her wings as the sun emerged from behind the billowing smoke, "It is so much nicer here. It's very difficult to keep ones wings warm in the cold."

"I had a friend who said something similar," Adahni said, grateful that the cleric had changed the subject.

"You knew one like me?" Kaelyn asked, "With wings?"

"Not precisely..." Adahni said, "My friend was a tiefling, with a lovely long tail that got dreadful frostbite if she stayed outside too long."

"A tiefling!" Kaelyn exclaimed, "But you, you're of the Aasimar yourself. How is it you came to spend time with one of the lower planes?"

"Yes, the man who sired me was a lesser angel," she said, "And the man who raised me was a wood elf, but my mother was human, I have always lived in human settlements, and I considered myself among their number. Hells, if anything the even slighter touch of dragon blood I carry has affected my life more than my celestial blood."

"Still," she said, "You didn't instinctively recoil from him?"

"Her," Adahni said, "And no, I didn't." She was starting to be a little annoyed by the cleric's questions, "You yourself have made some unorthodox choices, no? Your following of Ilmater itself is a rather going against your nature, wouldn't you say?"

"That's one thing... but those with the blood of the lower planes? Are they not just evil?" Kaelyn asked.

"No, they're not," Adahni said coldly, "They have no more or less capacity for evil than you or I or any with the blood of any kind of plane. I find your prejudices most off-putting."

"I did not mean to put you off, Adahni," Kaelyn said, "I suppose I find your open-mindedness admirable."

"My tiefling friend was a loyal and true companion and I wish her all of the happiness she deserves," Adahni replied. She felt tears come to her eyes, and was not quite sure why. Neeshka had lived to return to Crossroad Keep and be greeted by Nevalle and Nasher and her husband Cormick. As far as she knew, Neeshka, Sand, and perhaps Ammon Jerro had survived the attack. She had heard tell that Neeshka had been given the house and lands of Crossroad Keep after she returned. She had no idea what had become of Sand and Jerro.

"I believe you," Kaelyn said, "I apologize for my prejudice, you must understand where I come from."

"Quite all right," Adahni said, waving the woman off. She had spent so much time looking over her shoulder for the past two years that she had not spent a long time thinking about what had become of her previous companions. _Looking over my shoulder, and for what? Because I kept company with the traitor Kyrwan Bishop. Not for myself, but for him. _She guiltily pushed this thought from her mind. She had made the decision to go with him with a clear mind, and had few regrets about it, though sometimes she thought about what it would have been if she had returned to being the Captain of Crossroad. She imagined Neeshka had lived, given birth to the child she was carrying during the siege of the Guardian Ruins, and was having a wonderful life. She could not think anything else. After having led so many others to their deaths, she had to believe that at least the little Tiefling girl would be all right.

The air got warmer as they descended down the path and into a lush meadow carpeted with a deep green species of grass that Adahni had never seen before. The sun was out, and her skin drank it in, savoring it after so many weeks of cold and clouds.

It was Okku who let them know of the presence of enemies, letting loose a sound that was almost just like the warning bark of a dog. Adahni snapped upright, and looked to left and right, seeing two winged guardians coming towards them. Their two feet marked them as wyverns, lesser dragons that did not have the power of speech or logical thought as the higher dragons did. Lesser or higher, though, they were just as frightening when they were bearing down on you.

"Go for the joints!" Adahni managed to cry before ducking and rolling out of the way as the larger of the two dove for her. She drove her blade into the side of its neck, though only succeeded in creating a small nick out of which black blood trickled pathetically. She sprang back to her feet, the pain in her ankles forgotten in the adrenaline of the moment. Safiya had loosed a few missiles at the smaller one, who seemed to be rather stunned as Okku jumped up and tore its throat out. Gann, meanwhile, had lept onto the back of the one who had been attacking Adahni and was hacking at the back of its neck. She kept its attention on her, nicking it here and there, going for its knees and thighs. Finally, Gann managed to sever the things spinal cord, and it began to fall. Adahni dodged out from underneath just in time, and stood there, wiping the bitter black blood from her face.

"Why are they _always _hostile?" Adahni sighed, "It's like wherever I go, something's always trying to kill me. Please tell me that's not normal."

The others looked at each other. Okku shrugged, his hair rippling with the movement. "The world is a cold and hostile place," he said, by way of an explanation.

"I suppose you have walked it longer than the rest of us combined," Adahni sighed, "And that explanation will have to suffice."

"It's the most we can ask for," Kaelyn said, "Come, I think I see the tree Gnarlthorn spoke of. There can't be too many red trees at this time of year, can there."

"I suppose," Adahni said, "Can we think of a third untainted item?"

"If we can make the grove stop burning, I imagine we can find something like that there," Gann said, "And for that we will need to make contact with the _bheur._"

"Well in this place she shouldn't be too hard to find," Safiya said, "This Valley can be covered in a day or two at most, and the presence of an Ice Hag would certainly send up a few signals. Depending on how long she's been here, there could be veritable glacier coming from her lair."

"Don't you think she'd have the good sense to cover her tracks?" asked Adahni, "I have a bit of experience in hiding out from things. The first thing you do is erase all signs that you were there in the first place. Cover the fire pit, sweep over your tracks, put down pine boughs to cover your scent."

"I'm sure she would if she could," Gann sighed, "One thing that differentiates my mother's people from yours is that they are bound by their very natures. An ice hag cannot make things warm, only colder and colder. A _bheur _could no more make things warm than Okku could sprout wings and fly like Kaelyn."

"Well that seems impractical," Adahni said.

"It's why hags tend to congregate in covens. With several hags of the same type, they can form something like a working society. Solitary hags are disadvantaged, so to speak," Gann said, "Though it is said that most _bheurs _are indeed solitary, for none have seen more than one at once. They are not a part of the slumbering coven."

"But most of them have the good sense to remain in places that are normally icy?" Adahni guessed.

"Yes," Gann said, "You're catching on to the fauna of Rashemen quite quickly, my lemming. A _bheur _exists for the pleasure of bringing an icy doom upon all around her. From her choice of home, I would imagine this particular ice hag has such a penchant for that that she simply finds it boring to live in a place that is already cold."

"So she'd rather risk her very life to do that which she enjoys than live in relative safety and not enjoy it quite as much?" Adahni asked, "I think she and I might understand each other. Perhaps I can speak with her."

"I can't imagine why anyone would _choose _exile," Gann said, his voice a little sad, "I've never known anything else."

"Considering you don't seem to have much care for social niceties, I can imagine a few years in the city and you might long for the lam again," Adahni said, "Though I won't put words in your mouth."

"It is quite strange," the hagspawn said, tilting his head and looking around at his companions, "I admit I have become so unused to being with company that I simply say whatever pops into my head. I suppose I am sorry for that."

Adahni looked at him. It was the first time she'd heard the hagspawn speak with anything resembling self-awareness. He looked a little perplexed and lost.

"I'm not used to people not liking me," he said.

"We don't dislike you," she sighed.

"Speak for yourself!" Safiya grumbled.

Adahni hurried up to the front of the group, where Gann was walking alone, his hands clasped behind his back. It hadn't occurred to her that the gentle ribbing that she and the others had been giving him for the past weeks had worn on him. Then again, of course it would have. He was not used to being in the company of any given person for more than a few hours – how could he know that friends could criticize each other freely with no ill will behind it?

"I hope you know we don't actually," she said, "At least I don't."

He looked down at her, "You don't dislike me, but you don't _like _me either."

"To be fair, I feel as though I barely know you," she said, "All you ever talk about, when you're not busy propositioning myself or Safiya, is how many girls you've bedded in your dreams. That's not exactly a topic one talks about when one is trying to get anyone – especially a woman – to like you."

"Well they liked me," Gann said, "I figured if they liked me, you would imagine I had something likeable about me."

"Gods almighty!" Adahni sighed in exasperation, "Have you never bothered to sit down and talk with another person before?"

"Bothered?" Gann said, "They tend to throw shoes at me and chase me from their doorsteps! I'm not exactly welcome in most polite gatherings if you hadn't noticed! Normal hagspawn, you know the fanged brutes, are bad enough, but the Rashemi simply don't trust anything that's out of the ordinary. You know, hagspawn ought to be sinfully ugly with subhuman intelligence. You can pity a hagspawn, but once one comes in who turns your wife's head... forget about it!"

"I'm not Rashemi," Adahni said, "Safiya is Thayan, and Kaelyn isn't even from this plane."

"I know," he said, "It's just... difficult. This is all new to me, and I wish you'd be a bit more patient."

She sighed, "I will try, but no promises."

"And another thing! Do you think walking in dreams is something I do on purpose?" he asked, "If I'm to sleep at all, I must be in _someone's _dream. I don't have any of my own."

"Hm?" she asked.

"I don't have dreams of my own. My mind doesn't make them. I don't have any choice but to walk into the heads of others," he said, "I've been staying out of yours and Safiya's, but it's not as though I have a choice but to walk in dreams. It's my nature. Just as it's a _bheur's _nature to freeze things." He was quiet a moment. They had traversed a good amount of the western side of the valley by this time, and had come upon a great standing stone, seemingly hewn out of red rock that did not belong in the black volcanic soil of the Immil Vale. The rest of the group had evidently struck upon a topic of conversation that delayed them, and the two of them waited beneath it for the others to catch up.

"Moss Stone," he said, looking up at it. Adahni could see why it was called that. In every crack and imperfection of the rock grew creeping pockets of green moss.

"This is where one can experience prophetic dreams?" she asked.

"I had meant to speak to you of this before," he said, "If you wish to learn of the nature of your curse, you must look inward. It is difficult for one such as you to do so, no?"

"I suppose,"Adahni said.

"I believe that I may be able to help you," he said, "If you would rescind your refusal to allow me into your dreams. You and those like you are clouded and confused in dreams. The world that exists in your dreams is different from the world as it is, and when you are in that world everything there seems natural, so that you cannot notice what the dream world is trying to tell you."

"I see what you mean," she said. It was true, things happened in dreams that made no sense at all, and upon waking she would remember one or two things, but rarely the whole sequence at once.

"I am not like that," he said, "When I am in a dream, I do not lose my wits as most of you do. I remember things. I remain lucid. And if you are with me, with me to guide you, you too will remain lucid. Do you see what I'm saying?"

"If I go into the dream knowing you will be there to pull me back to myself, then I will experience the dream world as I do the real one?" Adahni asked.

"Precisely," Gann said, "Perhaps we will come back this way after sunset. I will help you look into yourself, and find the nature of your curse."

"Ha," she said, "I've learned over the years not to look too closely at myself. It's a bit frightening."

"I doubt it's that," Gann said, "Either way, it might be best not to tell the others. They don't trust me."

"I'm sure it's fine," Adahni said, "But if it would make you more comfortable, I will keep my mouth shut."

They stood there in silence while Okku, Safiya, and Kaelyn, approached them.

"Why did you stop?" Safiya asked, looking at the two of them suspiciously.

Gann pointed off to the distance. Barely a white speck, when Adahni strained her eyes she could see that there was a snowdrift leaning up against the cliff to the north.

"I think we've found our ice hag," he said.

"Glad you're good for something," Safiya said, "Come on. The sooner we've put out that fire, the happier I am."

"Now this should be interesting," said Adahni, "I've never met a hag before. Lead the way, hagspawn, something tells me she'd rather speak to you with the rest of us."

"Don't count on it," Gann said, "The thing about hags is they tend to not like each other very much. Then again, who does?"


	26. In the Lair of the Ice Hag

Upon closer examination, the snowdrift was only part of a larger frozen structure. It looked as though there once had been a mine of some sort hewn into the rock of the cliff. It struck Adahni as odd that miners of any kind would dare to burrow where the molten rock beneath the surface of Toril flowed so freely, but then again... perhaps that why the mine was abandoned. There were still rails there that had once guided carts full of coal or ore along their way to the surface, but the iron was twisted and bent, and the tracks ended before they were mean to. The remnants of a trestle bring stayed on either side of a river – a river that was now frozen solid, even in the temperate climate of the Vale.

"I think we've found our ice hag indeed," Safiya said, pointing to the mouth of the mine, where the rails went in and descended into the darkness.

Adahni went first, calling upon the light of the Aasimar – one of the only tricks her celestial heritage gave her the benefit of. Descending into the mine was like going back into the snowy forest, and Adahni was glad for the warm cloaks and boots that they had brought with him. The walls of the mine, stripped of their ore, were covered in ice, and icicles hung from the ceiling like stalactites.

About twenty yards into the mine, Adahni felt a rush of chill, even colder than what she was already experiencing. At first she thought it was just a draft, but when the cold thing hit her, very solidly, above her right ear, she realized that it was not just cold, but sentient, too.

"Good gods, what is that?" she asked, trying to focus as she reeled from the blow.

"That's an orglash," Safiya said, "A spirit of cold. It seems as though someone has woven the very essence of cold into the walls of this place." She pulled her cloak about her, and put up her hood to shield her bald head from the cold. She then snapped her fingers and summoned a fireball, which bowled Adahni over without hurting her, and melted the orglash right out of existence.

They ventured deeper into the mine, the ringing in Adahni's ears finally subsiding just as they reached a larger room. There no fire, just an eerie blue light. In the center of the room stood what looked like a very old woman, with long blue hair and deathly white skin. The most extraordinary thing about her, though, was that even in the frigid air of the mine, she was nearly naked, dressed only in a ragged vest that barely covered her sagging breasts, and a short bit of cloth wound about her waist. She whirled as they entered the room.

"Visitors? But you didn't send a messenger to let me know!" she exclaimed. Her voice was creaky like an old chair, but Adahni could sense her strength in the depths of it. "This place is a sty! Human remains everywhere. If only I'd had a bit of notice... don't you know it's hideously impolite to drop in on an old woman unannounced?"

"You look perfectly normal to me," Adahni said, "What's a hag like you doing in a place like this?"

"Well it isn't for this ghastly landscape," the _bheur _replied, "Too hot, too hot by far!"

"So why don't you leave?"

"I can't leave!" the _bheur _replied, "Those two old bats at the Red Tree watch me, day and night, their damnable ghostly eyes never leaving me. If they find me here, every hathran between here and Thay will be at my doorstep. Probably unannounced too..."

"Why do the hathran want you out?" asked Adahni.

"Every year they drive me out of their lands," the _bheur _sighed, "Celebrate it too. This is the one place they'd never think to find me. But now, I'm stuck. I can't help it, you see, I freeze the ground wherever I walk, it's my nature. I can't exactly cover my tracks..."

"So if I were able to melt the ice outside, would that help?" asked Adahni.

"Those damned witch ghosts might think I'd left," the _bheur _said, stroking her chin, which up close Adahni could see was covered in wispy, snow-white hairs. She made a mental note that if she could die before the age where she started growing hair on her face, it might be for the best.

"What witch ghosts?" asked Adahni, "I didn't see any spirits here, not like in the wood."

"Surely you passed the Red Tree," the ice hag said, "Therein reside two telthor hathran, bound to this place in death. They can't do much on their own, but if you've been here for any length of time you will have realized that death does not mean in Rashemen what it means in the rest of Toril. The minute they lay their damned dead eyes on me, they'll be whispering it through the realm of spirits to all of the living hathran, and there they'll be, frothing at the mouth to drive me from the land!"

"I'd be happy to do it..." Adahni started. Before she could make a demand for restitution in the form of something to put out the fire of the burning grove, the ice hag had jumped in the air, quite spryly for such an old woman, and begun dancing around in a little jig.

"Bless you, child!" she crowed, "What a nice surprise from such an ill-mannered guest. Just melt the ice and tell the telthor there that you saw me creep from the Vale like a thief in the night. They'll believe that, as much as they distrust me and any of my kind. I will, of course, repay you in any way that I can. Now run along, children! I have so much tidying up to do."

Not needing to be told twice, the group scurried back out of the mine and into the sunlight of the Vale, where they stood in a circle, rubbing their hands to get some blood back into their fingertips.

"That was odd," Adahni said, "She seemed perfectly reasonable. But what was that about the telthor at the Red Tree? I didn't see any telthor there."

"Then you're terribly unobservant," Okku said, "Safiya, Kaelyn and I had quite a nice conversation with them while you and Gann where whispering to each other under the Moss-stone."

"We were not _whispering,_" Adahni said, scowling, "We were thinking of strategies. You could have told me earlier when you caught up with us."

"They only repeated what we'd heard already," Kaelyn said, "We asked, of course, about the Wood Man, and about what's attacking the garrison at Lake of Tears. They said something damnably cryptic about the woods having instincts, which go wild now that the Wood Man is in hiding."

"Did they say anything about the _b- _the _bh- _the ice hag?" asked Adahni.

"Only that they thought she was here," Okku said, "And asked if we could get rid of her."

"And you neglected to tell me this before we arrived here and offered to help her?" Gann commented, "May I ask why?"

"Well we couldn't exactly as you to kill one of your own kind," Kaelyn said, "And it would seem as though our Adahni wouldn't exactly choose to help the hathran simply because they are the authority in these parts. So why would we have bothered?"

"How do you know that?" asked Adahni, "You barely know me."

"She has a point," Safiya said, "You heard the ice hag yourself – she didn't even know why the witches drive her out."

"She doesn't know why because there _is _no why," Gann said, "Yes, I understand why a human settlement might not want a hag around – they do tend to do a few unsavory things, lure children to their deaths and eat them, for example – but how many settlements do you see around here? There are no children to be lured to their death here. There's no reason they should not simply let her be."

"But they must drive her out because they just don't like hags," Adahni said, "Fair enough. I can see why Kaelyn did not tell me that right away. That sort of thinking makes me angry."

"I must say I'm a bit surprised," Gann said, "That you would take the side of the hag."

"I don't have to like her," Adahni said, "But that doesn't mean I begrudge her her very existence. That would just be unfair."

"Interesting way of seeing it," Gann said, "I must admit, I'm a little impressed."

"Well come on then, we have some ice to melt," Adahni said, "Perhaps it will help me to vent a little of this righteous indignation before we have to talk to the old bats, as she put it."

Adahni indeed had enough energy to roar fire out over the river that the ice hag had frozen.

"That is such an unnerving talent," Safiya said as they made their way back across the Vale.

"How so?" asked Adahni. A small flame flickered from her lips as she asked.

"You just... breathed fire," the wizard said.

"How is it any more unnerving than you slinging magical energy around like it was nothing?" she asked.

"I guess it isn't... it's just things are different in Thay. There aren't many sorcerers, and the bards we have don't have the power that you've managed to cultivate. Most emphasis is put on arcane knowledge. Even those wizards who have enough dragon blood to channel the weave in that way choose to ignore it, and just learn like the rest of us do."

"Really," Adahni said, "I've only ever known one natural sorcerer who tried to study the wizardly arts. It was a disaster to put it mildly. She was so arrogant of her own ability, she couldn't force herself to study like the rest of them. She had not incentive to, I guess, when you can just summon fire from nowhere on your own, why would you ever spend years poring over old boring texts learning how to do it another way?"

"What became of her?" asked Safiya.

"She was always a little unbalanced," Adahni said, "I suppose it's not her fault. But she betrayed me, at the end. I killed her."

"You killed her?" the wizard asked, her dark eyes wide with shock.

"Yes," Adahni said, "She forgot who I was, tried to burn me with a fireball. So I stabbed her. She couldn't magic her way out of that one."

"One such as that would have been executed in Thay," Safiya said, "We kept very close tabs on those who showed natural abilities with magic. We had to keep them very closely in line, lest they become too powerful."

"Too powerful for what?"

"For my mother to control," Safiya replied, "Wizards are all about control and study and keeping a close reign on ones abilities. Sorcerers and bards, on the other hand..."

"We just go about setting things on fire willy nilly, huh?" Adahni asked, chuckling, "You're right about one thing, though, it took me a long time to be able to channel my power into words and music. I suppose I'm lucky I didn't accidentally blow anything up before I finished puberty."

"I suppose," Safiya said.

They approached the tree from the south, and for the first time, Adahni made out the iridescent, barely visible shape of two telthor. As they drew closer, she could see that they were indeed in the shape of hathran, two middle aged women with masks covering their eyes and noses.

"I didn't quite believe them," the first of them said, "But now I see a face to cover the swirling vortex of hunger within you."

"Poetic," Adahni said, "Are you the hathran spirits that my companions spoke of?"

"Othlor in life, indeed," she replied, "I am Imsha, and this is Tamlith... or perhaps I am Tamlith and she is Imsha. It doesn't much matter any more I suppose. We linger on to fulfill our tasks."

"Does that include attacking me, and this swirling vortex of hunger, or however you put it?"

"What kind of wisdom would it be for a spirit to attack an eater of spirits?" Imsha chuckled, "No, we do not."

"We bring news of the _bheur_," Safiya said, "We searched the whole valley over, and she is no longer here."

"I don't believe you, red wizard," Tamlith said, "You're hiding something. Perhaps she has made some arrangement with you. What did you discuss?"

Safiya's face went as red as her robes at being caught in a lie. Adahni was growing hungry, and prickly, and sighed with exasperation at these two damned dead witches, worrying about some stupid hag that probably didn't bother them anyway.

"It doesn't matter, Tamlith," Imsha said, "We simply need to remain watchful – wait for her to re-emerge. She can't stay for long."

"Yes, we will keep watch. Obviously we have no one to trust but our own people."

"Oh fuck you and your people," Adahni cried peevishly, "Just leave her alone, she didn't do anything to you."

"Appealing to what? A sense of justice, is she? Obviously an outsider," Imsha said smugly.

"Leave her alone, or I'll be able to make a snack out of your and your smug little sister here," she said, not knowing really what she was saying. She saw fear in the translucent eyes of the telthor as she pronounced her threat.

"Perhaps we'd best be leaving," Imsha said. Without another word, first she, and then Tamlith, blinked out of existence.

"Assholes," Adahni muttered as they made their way back along the length of the valley to the ice hag's now quite melted lair. They found the inside almost completely devoid of ice, and what had been frosted to the sides of the tunnels was now flowing in a shallow river out of the mine and into the larger river outside it.

"I don't think she's here anymore," Gann observed.

In the main room of the mine, where the hag had kept herself, they found nothing to suggest that anyone had ever lived there. On a table in the middle of the room, they found a jar containing something glowing and blue. Tied to the neck of the jar with a bit of filthy twine was a note in spidery handwriting.

_Thank you for your help. I'm off to Icewind Dale where most have never heard of my kind to drive me away. I hope you enjoy this delicious Orglash Essence. I canned it myself last year. You may find it quite useful should you ever want to make anything cold. Then again, that's really all I'm good at, so it will have to do. Ta ta, my dears, and may you steer clear of all the hathran!_

"Well that settles that, I suppose," Adahni said, "What, do we just unleash this in the Burning Grove?"

"I suppose so," Kaelyn said, "Orglashes are powerfully cold spirits after all."

"But one thing," Gann said, "The sun will be down before we get back to there. What say we camp by the Moss-stone. It will make for some interesting dreams, after all." He and Adahni exchanged a glance , unnoticed by the others.

"For it to be effective, you'll have to sleep outside of the tent," Safiya said, "Like I said, it's like a bag of holding. Inside the tent, you're in another plane. If you want the dreams, you're going to be on your own. I'm certainly not laying out a bedroll under the stars."

"Nor am I," Kaelyn said, "You're on your own. I have no wish to tangle with the sort of magic held in the Moss-stone."

And so it happened, as the sun set over the mountains to the west, that Adahni and Gann were left to spread their cloaks out on the grass, which would likely become damp with dew. On this rather uncomfortable bed, they passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth, Adahni knowing that the drink was the only way she would ever be able to sleep, out in the open an unprotected, without even Davy guarding their camp. She didn't remember falling asleep, but when she awoke, she was back in the snow of the Ashenwood.

Or no, this was not Ashenwood.

And she was not awake.


	27. Beneath the Mosstone

She was in the foothills of some mountains or other, that stood, threatening and black against a cloudy blue sky. The snow lay deep around her, seemingly undisturbed. She stood there, breathing in the impossibly clean air, and straining her eyes in the twilight. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned to see the hagspawn standing next to her.

"This is what Ashenwood once looked like," Gann said, "Before any walked here, God, man, or beast. Something is wrong here, be on your guard."

"I thought we were dreaming," she said, "What do I have to fear?"

"Yes, we are dreaming. We are within your mind. Your body is quite safe, but your mind may still be destroyed by the demons who dwell within you."

They tramped through the snowy woods. Adahni felt none of the familiar aches and pains, and knew that Gann was telling the truth, they were indeed dreaming. They followed a path cut between the mountains of her mind, which went round and round in a spiral, until they reached a barren clearing, where the snow had melted away. There were a few small birch trees there, surrounding the clearing. Of more interest, though, was the group standing within.

"I don't know them," Adahni said, stopping dead in her tracks, "If this is my mind, then shouldn't it only be populated with people I've seen?"

"It's only yours anymore," Gann said, "You are carrying yourself and the curse within you. These may be memories that the spirit eater has."

"So this is how I can talk to the curse? You speak of it as though it is a person," Adahni said.

"I don't know _what _it is. And neither do you. That is why we are here, no?"

"There are five there," Adahni said, "I don't know them. I've never seen them before in my life, and yet..."

"And yet what?" Gann asked.

"That one is named Juraj," she said, pointing at a shorthaired woman in a sorcerer's robe, "I don't know how I know this. I have never lain eyes on her before..."

"Someone walks in our lady's garden..." Juraj said. Her voice was familiar, low and husky.

"Stay back!" another of the group called. He turned, and Adahni looked upon the face of a painted barbarian. She knew his name. Ivoi. How did she know his name, "_We _found her, she is urs! She is all we have, and you cannot take her away!"

"Careful," the hagspawn whispered in her ear, "These four mean us harm."

"And the fifth?" Adahni asked, straining her eyes in the half-light. The fifth figure hung back behind the other four. She could see the silhouette of wizard's robes, and a bald head, "Is that Safiya?"

"How did you find your way to this place?" A third of the group asked. He was blad and moustachioed, wearing some nobleman's garb that looked dreadfully out of date, "Tell us."

"I might ask you the same, seeing as this is my mind you're occupying," Adahni said.

"Is it true?" Ivoi the barbarian asked, "Does she dream us, or do we dream her? And each other?"

"Be quiet," the older man said. His name came to her of a sudden. Zarakh. "She is another bearer of the Gift, nothing more. They arise, one after another, blazing bright and guttering out. They hunger, gorge, and are gone... but we remain – we have _her _for an anchor."

"What is so important about that woman?" Adahni asked, looking at the red wizard behind them.

"She is the last of many... all facets of the same dream, the same memory. There were many once... before the hunger took them all. Only _she _remains because she was always the strongest. Her garden, _our _garden – grew firm and strong around her."

"Please, don't take her away!" Ivoi begged, "Don't cast us adrift, we cannot bear it again!"

"I need to speak with her. Can I offer you something, anything, in exchange?" Adahni asked, keeping her speech sweet.

"No. She's been waiting for this one. They'll speak their words, and then she'll leave us."

"Ivoi is right," Zarakh said, "We cannot risk losing our anchor, and I think that if we slay you here, you will never find your way back to our lady's garden." He threw his hands in the air, and began an incantation. Ivoi drew a large and nasty-looking axe. They advanced on her, slowly.

"Good gods," Adahni said, "You mean I have to fight figments of my own mind?"

"You could," Gann said, "But for someone who has such a great command over her own mind, I think it should be easier for you."

She looked at him strangely, but then realized what he meant. This was her dream. Her mind. She did not control these aspects of the dream, these strangers to her who had managed to come there to that place deep within her, but she did control the rest of it. She concentrated a moment. A great crack sounded across the barren landscape, echoing for nearly a minute, as a great avalanche of snow was loosed from the hills above and came barreling down on the group. It buried the, crushing them under a mountain of snow, so that not even the point of Ivoi's axe was visible beneath the white.

"Very nicely done!" the hagspawn said, clapping his hands slowly in admiration, "For one with such a fiery spirit as your own, I would have thought you would have called upon something hotter than snow."

"I work with what is available to me," Adahni said, actually impressed herself with what she'd been able to do, "I would, of course, prefer fire. But snow is here, and so snow will do."

"I am going to do my best not to read too far into that statement, my lemming," Gann said.

"See that you don't," Adahn replied. She made her way over the snow bank, feeling the four companions start to stir beneath it. The woman in red was still standing there in the grove of snow-covered birches, as though she had neither seen nor heard the avalanche that had buried her four devotees. She turned absently as Adahni approached her.

"I feared you would not find me before the hunger took you," she said. Up close, Adahni could see that it was not precisely Safiya. The two looked very much alike to be sure, but this red woman was a bit older.

"What are you? What are you doing in my mind?" Adahni asked, "What do you have to do with the hunger?"

"I am but a memory of love," the red woman said, looking away. She started walking away, into the shadow of the birches, so that Adahni could barely see her outline.

"I don't understand," Adahni said, "A memory of love? What do you mean by that?" She followed, putting her hand out to stay the hagspawn who wished to follow her. She followed the retreating back of the red woman into the birches. She walked into the darkness, branches tearing at her face, until she came upon another clearing. The red woman was now one of several people, all of whom looked up as she came in. Adahni put her hands over her mouth as she realized who they were.

Alden, the plowboy, the first boy she had ever kissed, and then never seen again. Dayven, her first husband, still a young and whole man with all of his teeth, his green eyes clear and beautiful, untainted by hatred or the madness of Cyric. Jem, who had rescued her and been rescued by her, his curly brown hair and blue eyes with the smile lines at their edges. They were sitting in a circle in the middle of the clearing. They rose, one by one, and embraced her. All of the men she had ever loved.

All but one.

"I don't understand," she said, feeling hot tears spring to her eyes and course down her cheeks.

"Yes you do," the red woman said, "You know what it is to love and lose."

"Yes I do," Adahni said, "You didn't have to... you didn't have to show them to me. Why did you do this? Why am I doing this to myself?" The agony pierced her heart as she gazed upon the eyes of her lost loves, "Alden... I can't even remember your face when I am awake. Why do I see you now?" The darkeyed plowboy shrugged. He'd disappeared after the harvest. _He has no voice because I cannot remember his voice, _she thought. Dayven had turned into a bitter little addict, cleaved to the darkness of the Circle of Blades. And Jem... poor Jem had fallen while in her service, killed by a bandit's arrow. "Jem..."

"It's all right, Addie," said Jem. He put his arms around her, and then released her, and turned her by her shoulders so that she faced the red woman. The woman had produced something, it looked like a dark piece of carved wood, and held it out to her. "Take it, love," Jem said.

"What is it?" Adahni asked, but took it from the woman's hands before she received an answer.

"It is me," the woman said, "And while I am within you, it is them."

"I don't understand," Adahni said.

"You will," the red woman said, "You will not see me again, but so long as you have this fragment, know that I am safe, and so are they."

She had begun to go hazy around the edges, and then became as transparent and insubstantial as a telthor. She turned to see that the same was happening to Jem, his arms around her were fading into nothingness, as were the outlines of Dayven and Alden the plowboy.

"No, wait!" she cried, "Don't leave me again!"

But they were gone.

Gann chose that moment to burst into the clearing, his blue face marred with scratches where the branches of the birches appeared to have tried to keep him out. And then Gann too began to fade into nothing ness.

"No!" she cried, "No, don't you leave me too!"

She woke herself up then, the words incoherent and strangulated as she howled them into the warm night of Immil Vale. She sat bolt upright and tried to regulate her breathing, which was coming in fast and ragged sobs. Gann was already awake, and he put his hand on her back, trying to get her to calm down, and then put his arms around her when he realized that she was in no danger, but only on the brink of a complete emotional meltdown.

"What... in the fuck was that?" Adahni gasped between sobs.

"Memories of love," Gann said, "That's what the red woman said. Here, let me see that."

He took something from her hand. When she saw, she realized that her fingers had been curled fiercely around the thing that the red woman in the dream had given her. It was of dark and polished wood, and carved beautifully.

"I think you'd best hang on to this," he said, "It may prove its worth later on."

Adahni took it back from him with a shaking hand, and tucked it into her pack. She sat, her back to the Moss-stone, and tried to calm herself down. She didn't understand why she was so upset about this particular thing. All of those men were long dead to her, if not actually. She had mourned them all, and moved on with her life. Why was she reacting this way?

"It's not just you," Gannayev said, "Just remember, not everyone has such a handle on their emotions as you do."

"I have to," Adahni said, "I am a bard. I trade in emotions. Why am I shaking?"

"There's something within you that cannot handle loss in the way that you can."

"Handle loss?" Adahni asked, "Two of those men abandoned me. And the third... he just died."

"But part of you loves them still," Gann said, running a hand through her dark hair, "I suppose that is admirable of you, no? To love the parts of them that remain with you, even if the rest of them has gone down a path of darkness?"

She was quiet a moment, and then spoke her true fear, "Why was Bishop not among them?"

Gannayev flinched a bit at the question, but composed himself, and thought on it a moment, "She said it was a memory of love lost. It must mean you have not lost him yet."

"I haven't? Even while I am here, and he's gods know where?" she asked, but she had to admit that what the hagspawn said made sense.

"You have not let him go," Gann said simply, "Not yet."

"Of course I haven't," Adahni said, "Nor do I intend to."

"Well, that was certainly harrowing," Gann said, changing the subject entirely, "What say we rejoin the others in the tent, and try to get some proper sleep?"

"Sounds wonderful," Adahni said.

Laying down on the soft bed in Safiya's wondrous tent, she was grateful as she closed her eyes that that part of her brain was utterly exhausted, and sleep brought only blessed nothingness.


	28. The Assassin's Girl

_Twelve years ago, Luskan_

* * *

><p>He didn't go to the Cuckoo's Nest for some weeks. The stabbing pain of watching the men with his sister did not lessen with time. He nursed the feeling, the same way he coaxed a fire from the glowing coals into a merry blaze, basking in the energy and heat that his anger gave him. When he was frustrated with his school work – a particularly difficult cypher or mathematical formula that didn't make sense, he conjured the image of the fat man, his chubby smooth fingers, fingers that had never lifted a hammer or heavy load, skittering over Kyla's pale skin like waterbugs over the glassy surface of a pond. The hatred swelled in his belly, and he attacked the problem in front of him with a renewed vigor.<p>

He was sitting in the back of the classroom on a holiday morning, working on some problems that Schoolmaster had given him after he was done with the normal lesson. If he went to school, he did not have to exhaust his already dwindling supply of lamp oil, or strain his eyes trying to scratch out his answers by the sputtering light of the cheap tallow candles he bought by the dozen. Two other pupils were there too, being punished, Linca, the daughter of a kitchen girl at a slightly higher class pub than the Cuckoo's nest, and Rigard, a fat porker of a kid two years Kyrwan's senior who came from the nicer part of town, but whose father was too miserly to get him a private governess like other rich children. Rigard was in detention for grabbing Linca's bottom during their lunch break and trying to kiss her. Linca was there for stabbing him through the hand with her quill pen when he did. She'd done him the courtesy of putting the hole in his left hand, which hung, useless and bandaged under his desk, while he wrote, "I must respect others" over and over again with his good one. Linca had been instructed to write "I must not overreact" one hundred times but she sat defiantly, her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at Schoolmaster.

Kyrwan started as the door to the classroom opened with a bang, and in strode none other than Kyla's corpulent john, all done up in his holiday best.

"My wife tells me you've held Rigard here, and two days before the Spring Fair!" he bellowed.

Schoolmaster, who was grading tests at the front of the classroom, looked up mildly over his wire-rimmed spectacles, "And you are?"

"My name is Edrick Falringer!" the fat man bellowed. Kyrwan watched, feeling as though his heart had fallen right out of his chest and was sloshing around in his stomach, "Do you know who I work for?"

"Your boss, I would imagine," Schoolmaster said, "What can I help you with?"

"I work for none other than the Master of the Fifth Tower! And I hear you've punished my son," he roared.

"He violated the personal space of one of my students in quite an inappropriate way," Schoolmaster said, glancing at Linca, who had uncrossed her arms and was watching the exchange between the two men with interest.

"Perhaps if the little whore wouldn't tempt the boys, she wouldn't find herself in trouble of that sort!" Edrick replied, "None of this gives her the right to stab him. She _assaulted _him!"

The glowing embers of resentment roared to life in Kyrwan's chest. _I am going to kill you one day, _he thought, _I don't know when, but I am going to be the last man to see you alive. _

"That 'little whore' is ten years old," Schoolmaster said, "As you can see, she too is being punished for her actions. Please leave my classroom and refrain from using such language in front of my pupils."

"I don't see the harm in calling a duck a duck," Edrick said.

"Please leave my classroom," Schoolmaster said.

"Or what?"

The old man rose from his desk, putting his quill pen down. Kyrwan saw him stand so rarely that he was impressed by how tall the old man actually was, towering over Edrick. His eyes blazed blue under his bushy white eyebrows and round spectacles. He raised his hand and Kyrwan saw electricity spark between his fingers.

"Do you think your master is the only person in this town who can call upon the power of the Weave?" Schoolmaster asked, his voice suddenly deep and powerful.

Edrick made a sound then, a cross between the peep of a spring frog and the squeak of a rusty door hinge, and scuttled from the room like a crab. Schoolmaster smiled and snapped his fingers, extinguishing the sparks between his fingers, and looked benevolently out over the three students in the classroom. "There," he said, "Now that that unpleasantness is done, what say we call detention over and all go home for a cup of tea?"

Kyrwan looked back down at his work. He was nearly done anyway, and now he was much too agitated to concentrate on math problems. He put away his inks and quills in the compartment under his desk and picked up his bookbag. Linca looked less defiant now as she sheepishly handed her blank page to Schoolmaster, embarrassed that she had not taken his punishment standing up when it was clear he had been on her side the whole time. She mumbled an apology, and the old man ruffled her blond hair and told her it was quite all right, but that she would be better served by keeping her temper in check. She slunk to the back of the room and approached Kyrwan.

"Would you walk me home?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Kyrwan was struck dumb. He'd barely exchanged two words with the girl in the two years they'd gone to school together.

"Why?" he asked.

Her eyes slid over to Rigard, who had handed his sheets in to Schoolmaster, who told him to be his own man and not worry about his father.

"He said he'd get me," Linca said, "I don't know what he meant by that, but it can't be good."

"Well, all right," Kyrwan said, "My mates are waiting for me outside, I think we can keep you safe."

"Thank you!" she exclaimed. She threw her arms around him and planted a kiss on his cheek. He felt his face go hot and he looked down sheepishly, suddenly very interested making sure his books were arranged neatly in his bag.

Indeed, his friends were waiting downstairs for him. Kita, the daughter of the butcher from downstairs. Lankin, an orphan from the docks who had been taken in by Kath, the proprietress of the Cuckoo's nest. Lankin was scrawny and wiry, with a perpetual smudge of dirt on his left cheek. Kita looked old for her age, which was twelve, and had gotten in the habit of carrying a knife under her skirts to ward off unwanted attention from the men of the docks. Though both were older than Kyrwan, for whatever reason they listened to him, letting him play the ringleader.

"He let you out early!" Lankin exclaimed.

"Yeah," Kyrwan said.

"But he didn't let you out, you weren't being punish-" Linca started.

"Yeah," he said, glaring at her, "He let me off easy." The last thing he needed was Lankin and Kita knowing that he'd gone to school on a day when there was no class of his own accord to work on problems that weren't even assigned. He had them convinced that most of the time, when he stayed after class or went in on a day off, it was because of some transgression or another, "This is Linca. We're walking her home so's if that fat fuck Rigard Falringer gets any ideas he'll wind up at the bottom of the river."

"Oh, so _you're _the one who put a pen through that little pig's hand," Lankin said, "He's been begging for it for years!"

"Should make him into a pork pie," Kita said, "Hardly anyone would be able to tell the difference."

"Yeah," Linca chuckled, enjoying the sudden celebrity that her action had gotten her with the urchins from the docks, "Yeah I stuck him."

They wandered through the alleyways and out into the main road. Linca lived with her mother in a flat above the Barnacled Bark, the bar where she worked. It was further inland than the Cuckoo's nest, and there were no prostitutes allowed. Her dad had been hanged for thievery some years before, something that everyone knew but nobody talked about. There was no sign of Rigard or any of his cronies on the way, and they delivered Linca safely to her flat.

There had always been some tension between the kids from the docks and the kids whose parents could afford to live in the ritzy district, but not a better school, but it had not become a full out war yet. The school where Schoolmaster taught took students in groups, one year taking all of the kids from eight to ten, and kept them in the same class until they oldest were eighteen and the youngest sixteen. There were four other teachers who worked for him that taught the other age groups, and while they sometimes mixed on the playground, and Kyrwan had seen them tangle, teeth getting knocked out and blood running down the cobblestones. Once a girl from the docks had stuck a boy from inland with a pen knife. She was in jail, though she claimed that she was just defending herself. That was what happened when kids got older, Kyrwan surmised, when the girls started looking like women and the boys started getting aggressive like men. And no matter what had actually happened, it seemed, it was the kids from docks who wound up expelled or in jail, while the rich kids got off easy with nothing but a missing tooth or broken arm as consequences. The best strategy, he'd surmised, was to enforce the rules like Dayven the Assassin did. In secret, without anyone seeing, not in fisticuffs in the schoolyard where parents and guards could enforce the greater social order where the poor paid the consequences and the rich got off easy.

"Get Fray and Arky," he told Jaxy, "We need to take care of Rigard now."

"What are you going to do?" Lankin asked quietly.

"I'm going to make sure he never touches a girl as doesn't want him touching her again," Kyrwan said, "And that he tells his friends the same."

"Yeah," Lankin sighed, "Are you gonna hurt him?"

"Not if he doesn't make me," Kyrwan said. He reached into his pocket where he kept the knife Kyla had gotten him for his tenth birthday. It was a folding knife, as long as the distance from his wrist to the tip of his middle finger, and he kept it sharp, "Gotta teach him that his da can't protect him from everything."

"Yeah," Kita agreed, "Teach that fat fuck a lesson."

Fray and Arky Trovo were twins, the son and daughter of a longshoreman and a whore from Amn. Fray was tall for his age, and already had to shave his face once a week at the age of eleven, while Arky was small and wiry, often mistaken for a boy depending on what she wore. Fray was charming and would certainly grow up to be handsome, while Arky was her brother's shadow, with a shrill voice and a sadistic sense of humor. They found them where they always found them, hiding out in an alley near the schoolyard, smoking pilfered pipeweed from a pipe that Arky had carved herself.

"Oy! Trovo!" Kyrwan called. Both Trovos looked up. Arky blew a smoke ring his way, "We need you."

"What's the game?" Fray asked.

"Rigard Falringer," Kyrwan said, "He's crossed one too many boundaries and we need to put him back in his place."

"I've been wanting to make that little piggy squeal for a long time," Arky said.

"Well you'll get your wish," Kyrwan said, "Come on, I know where he hangs out."

They found Rigard without too much trouble. He was sitting outside the baker's shop with two of his friends, two boys from inland. Boys whose fathers had pocket money so they could sit their stuffing their faces with sweet rolls while some of the kids from the docks went hungry or cold.

"Come on out of there, little pig," Kyrwan said, "The big bad wolf needs a word with you."

Rigard looked up from his snack, and to his friends, both of whom were older boys, probably fourteen or more, and as tall as men. '

"You can bring your friends," he said, "We're not afraid of them. Are you afraid of us?"

"I'm not scared of any wharf rat," Rigard said. He stuffed the rest of his roll into his mouth and wiped the crumbs from his shirt, pushing out from the table and swaggering towards them, "And anything you say to me you can say to my cousins."

The older boys looked at each other nervously. Rigard didn't have the good sense to be intimidated by the ragtag and of children, but the older boys had been around the block enough times to know not to mess with a group of people whose most salient feature was their desperation.

"Let's take a walk," Kyrwan said.

Rigard fell into formation. His cousins followed them, but hung back. They got to the alley behind Kita's father's shop and Kyrwan's flat. It was still broad daylight, but the buildings leaned in over the alley, making it dim indeed.

"I welcome your cousins to stay for his," Kyrwan said, "But you know, with all of the lowlifes from the docks off work today, this might not be the best part of town for them to wind up in when the bars close."

Rigard's cousins, took once look at the neighborhood – the ramshackle building that housed the Cuckoo's nest down the street, the garbage in the alleyways, the packs of feral dogs that ate the garbage, and sometimes took down a child left alone.

"Cowards!" Rigard called as they took off.

"You're on you're own with this one," the bigger of the two boys said, "_We _didn't grab that girls arse."

"I see they got all of the brains of the family," Kyrwan observed, turning his attention back to Rigard, "Kita, could you kindly escort them back up the hill to their own territory? And make sure they stay there?"

"No need," one of them said.

"Please, it would only be polite," Kyrwan said. They left, followed by the two kids. Kita had begun to learn the rudiments of magic from books. He'd seen her fry bacon in a pan by shooting flames from her fingers at it. Either way, he knew that no ill would befall them.

"Let's just make this perfectly clear," he said, "You ain't better than any of us. You ain't better than me, and you certainly ain't better Linca."

"I don't see why you're so obsessed with protecting that slut," Rigard growled.

"Stick him!" Arky exclaimed.

Kyrwan did indeed take his knife from his pocket, testing the edge while he did. Sharp as always. He ran the cool steel along Rigard's fat little cheek, "What, you too fat and nasty for a girl to actually want yer hands on her?"

"Fuck you!" Rigard spat, "Everyone knows your sister's a whore! Maybe I should collect the three coppers she costs and have her for the night!"

Kyrwan felt as though he'd been knocked back, and actually fell back away from where he had Rigard pinned against the outside of the building. Of course everyone knew Kyla was a whore, but nobody was actually impolite enough to say it out loud to him. Arky had the presence of mind to step in and block the kid's escape.

"Now I dunno why you're being so impolite to a man with a knife at your throat," she hissed, "That seems like a very, very bad move for a person in your place."

"Well you don't have knife anywhere," Rigard said, "Why should I be polite to you? I hear your own mother spreads her legs for coppers on the docks."

"Why yes she does," Arky said, "But you're wrong about one thing. I do have a knife. And I don't think you'd like where it's aimed right now." Kyrwan made out the shape of a hunting knife in her pocket, her scrawny hand clenched around it, aimed right where no man would want it stuck. He saw her thrust it forward a bit, so Rigard could just feel the pressure.

"You wouldn't dare," Rigard said, his voice hoarse, but Kyrwan saw a wet stain form in the front of his pants. Arky'd gotten him to piss himself with fear. He chuckled inwardly, feeling better about the insult that Rigard had used.

"Little lord ain't so high and mighty," Kyrwan said, his bravado renewed. He leaned in, put his own blade against the boy's throat again, "Why don't you insult my sister again? Maybe Arky can get you to shit yourself too."

"Just let me be," Rigard said, his voice quiet and desperate, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't think it was a big deal..."

"What in the hells is going on here?" a woman's voice echoed in the alleyway. Arky stepped off right away, but Kyrwan kept his knife there for a moment more before stepping back and looking to see. At first he thought Kyla had come home early, but when he looked, he saw that it was the little black-haired barmaid that had chased him away from the Cuckoo's nest several weeks before. Dayven's girl.

Rigard took the opportunity to scuttle off as fast as his little legs would carry him, leaving a trail of piss as he ran.

"What business is it of yours, lady?" Kyrwan asked. The girl raised her eyebrows. In the daylight, without any paint on her face, he could see that she was younger than he thought she'd been, probably fourteen or fifteen. She could have passed for twelve if she hadn't been dressed like a grown woman. The tone of voice she used, though, indicated that she did not in any way consider him a peer.

"You must be Kyrwan," she said.

"That's my name," he said. He closed the blade of his knife and put it back in his pocket. He looked her over again. She had dark skin, though it was the end of winter so it wasn't from working out in the sun, and pale brown eyes that looked almost yellow. Her gaze was direct, and rather unnerving. "What in the hells do you want?"

"I'm a friend of Kyla's," she said.

Arky and Fray looked at each other and Lankin chuckled. "Are you a whore too?" asked Lankin.

"Shut up, Lankin," Kyrwan said, "We all know your mother did it with all the sailors, and for free." He didn't like bringing up his friend's dead mother, but he'd had quite enough of people insulting Kyla for the day. He turned his attention back to Dayven's girl, "So what do you want?"

"I brought the rent money," she said, "I'd give it to you but something is telling me that perhaps I ought to turn it directly over to the landlord."

He was silent a moment. Usually Kyla paid the landlord, or left him the money herself. The only times she did not come home, she would show up a week or so later, the bruises healing, the cuts fading. He let her believe she was fooling him. He tried to gauge the barmaid, maybe she would tell him something. Something, anything. He was already riled up from the incident with Rigard, maybe this time he might have the courage to do something...

"Why didn't she bring it?" he asked.

"She's not feeling well," the barmaid replied.

He glanced at Arky and Fray. They knew well what it meant when a prostitute 'wasn't feeling well.'

"One of her johns roughed her up, didn't he," he said. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks, "Who was it? Let me at him, I'll kill him!"

The barmaid said something very odd then. Her expression softened and she spoke to him as an equal, not as a grown-up speaking to a child, "I don't know who," she said, and he could see in her eyes that she wasn't lying, "Believe me, I'd like to kill him too." She was quiet a moment, and he could see that the anger seethed beneath the surface in her, just as it did in him. Then she snapped out of it, and said, "But murder's not going to get the rent paid."

"All right," he said, holding his hand out for the money. She put a purse in his hand. It was the right weight. Kita's father would take it gladly, "Thanks..."

"Addie," she said.

"Thanks, Addie," he said. He turned, and saw Arky smirking at him.

"Ooooh," she taunted, "Looks like someone's in _loooove..._"

"Oh shut up," he said, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. Nobody teased him like that, least of all skinny little Arky Trovo. He turned, and called out, "Hey, how much gorgeous?"

He saw Addie freeze. All in a rush she had turned around, come up to him, and slapped him soundly across the face. Arky, Lankin, and Fray all howled with laughter as she turned and walked off down the alleyway.

"The lot of you can fuck right off," he said.

"Pretty defensive for a man with nothing to hide!" Fray exclaimed, "So do you like it when girls slap you? I heard Mum say some men like that."

"Shut _up_!" he growled angrily, "Her young man's an assassin, you know."

That sobered the three of them up right quick. The only thing that the ruffians of the docks feared more than the long and biased arm of the law was the black cloaks and poisoned daggers of the Circle of Blades. Even joking about a little boy being sweet on one of their women was just asking for trouble. The four of them wandered down to where the river grew flat and placid, and spent the rest of the day skipping stones until their families called them home for dinner.

Spring was coming. That was a good thing.


	29. Prayers for Life

By noon of the next day, they had gotten to the top of the vale. She was feeling a little groggy after her interrupted sleep the night before, and woken up nauseous again. Still, she managed to keep down a few wild fruits they found growing on a vine near the Mosstone and by the time they had climbed the final feet to the top of the gorge, she was feeling more or less herself. They stood, looking into the flames ahead. She could smell the apprehension coming off of Safiya.

"Wait here," Adahni said, looking back at her companions, "There's no reason for the rest of you to come in with me."

"What if he attacks you?" asked Gann.

"I have a jar of icy evil under my arm," she said, "I'm not that worried. Like Okku said, he's just a little thing. A bug. I can squish him."

"Let me come with you," Okku said, "I don't feel the heat or the flame. I would have a word with Shape of Fire before we dispatch of him. I don't dispute that we must do it. If anything it's doing him a kindness. But I would have a word."

Adahni looked at him oddly, but she did not protest as he followed her beyond the dark and smoky veil and into the burning grove. She willed herself to keep her eyes open. The heat didn't get to her so much, but the smoke grated against her lungs and eyes until both felt red and raw.

"Why?" she asked, hoping a conversation with the old bear might distract her from the discomfort.

"Why what?" Okku said.

"Why do you want a word with Shape of Fire?" she asked.

"Because I want him to know that it was not I that put this curse upon him," the old bear said.

She was silent a moment, hoping she would not have to ask him to continue. He obliged her, his voice rumbling and creaking on behind her, reminding her that he was there though she couldn't see him for the smoke.

"Shape of Fire used to be a man," Okku said, "A tracker. His name was Nikolai. That's all I know of him, other than he was once in the employ of a carrier of the curse you now bear."

"A spirit eater?"

"Yes," Okku said, "The first I ever encountered."

"Not the one who spared you," Adahni said.

"This one, too, spared me," he said, "How do you think I was around for the next one to so nobly pardon me? It was centuries ago. Nikolai found me, tracked me down even in the frozen wasteland where I hid for fear. I had heard the whispers on the wind of the Spirit Eater and hunkered down in the frozen wastelands, hoping he would not find me."

"But he spared you. Why did he spare you after he went through so much trouble to find you?"

"I told him of the Wood Man," Okku said, "I told him that the Wood Man was a much older and more powerful spirit than I. Nikolai the Tracker knew the area, and took him to him."

"You sold out the Wood Man?" Adahni asked.

"I knew that the Wood Man would be no match for the Spirit Eater. I sent him to his death. I did not know that his wrath would fall upon the tracker. He cursed him to burn for eternity, damned him to this fate you see here. That is why I said it might be a kindness to kill him."

She could see him in the corner of her eye, dancing around the treetops. She could feel his eyes upon her, though they were nothing but two cinders.

"Is that why he's burning the grove?" she asked, "To get back at the Wood Man?"

"With the blight, and the frost giants, it might be enough to fell even the Wood Man. I feel responsible for it," he sad, "It is why the next time a Spirit Eater found me, I offered myself. It is what made his sparing me so noble, and what has led me to follow you."

"You didn't intend this to happen," Adahni said, "Come, what would you have me do."

"Free the orglash," he said.

Adahni took the jar in her two hands, the cold scorching her hands like fire never could. She threw all of her strength into it, and the lid came loose. The essence poured forth with a life of its own, swirling around her head in a tornado of cold. She wrapped her arms around herself and let the jar fall and shatter on the ground. The glowing branches of the burning grove blackened and cooled, the roaring flames shrank and fizzled, and the Shape of Fire stopped dancing. He fell from the treetops, and she could see as he fell the demon become a young man, the young man become an old man, the old man a corpse and then a skeleton, and then but dust, raining down on them with a sigh.

"Well that was simple," she said.

"Indeed," Gann's voice said from behind her. She turned. He had caught up to them, and was examining one of the charred trees. He snapped off a blackened branch, "And I think _this _will do quite nicely. This ought to get Chauntea's attention, don't you think?"

"I'm glad one of us was thinking about that," Adahni said, "Before we trekked all the way back into center of the forest."

"That is the benefit of having a companion like me," the dreamwalker said, "Is you can have more than one brain at once."

"So you're in my head now?" she asked.

"We have shared a real dream, a lucid dream," he said, "So yes, you could say that I'm in your head. And you are in mine, if you cared to take a look."

"You're thinking about fish," she said. She didn't know quite where she came up with that, but when she looked at the hagspawn's face, with its inscrutable expression, the only thing she could think of was a nice roasted salmon with lemon on the top. She could smell it, even, and her mouth watered.

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm hungry."

She looked away from him, and all of the sudden the smell of salmon in her nostrils had turned rotten, making her stomach revolt, lurch, and she fell on all fours in the snow, heaving up her breakfast.

"Gods almighty," she gasped as the waves of nausea slowly abated, "This curse is going to starve me to death in more ways than one. What kind of cruel sorcerer invents a curse that makes you hunger for spirits and then makes your body revolt against you?"

"Once we make our way to the slumbering coven, we may find out," Gann said, "But for right now, we are in Ashenwood, and it would be foolish to wander far from it before we have had the opportunity to speak with the Wood Man." He strode up to her, completely nonplussed by the vomit that had dribbled down her chin, and picked her up. She let him half-carry her back to where Kaelyn and Safiya were waiting. The two women were lying on the grass close to the edge, staring at the sky, evidently finding shapes in the clouds. Safiya had such a peaceful, serene look on her face that Adahni was sorry to rouse her from her revery.

"I hate to break it to you ladies," the hagspawn said, "But we're heading back into Immil Vale. We have a favor to ask of Chauntea."

"You have found a third thing free of taint?" asked Kaelyn, "What is it?"

"A tree branch that has been cleansed by the fire of centuries," Gann said, "No taint here."

Safiya and Adahni snickered, and Kaelyn rolled her black eyes at them. They made their way down, and around, and down, and around, until they arrived at the great red tree. Adahni accepted the three things – the vial of water, the leaves, and the branch.

"Could you leave me alone?" she asked, "I don't pray much, and I think knowing one of you could hear how stupid it sounds might throw me off."

She turned around, but realized that she was alone. She was also no longer in the Immil Vale. The red tree still stood before her, but the grass beneath her feet spread out indefinitely in all directions. She whirled, wondering what on Toril was going on... and then she saw her. She was very tall, brown-skinned and black-haired like Addie herself. A garland of roses was entwined about her head, and as she walked she carried with her the smell of autumn and the harvest. The goddess strode across the endless meadow, a mysterious smile spreading over her lips, and her teeth showing brilliantly white against her brown skin, "Hello, my daughter! I was hoping you might come visit me."

"Me?" Adahni asked, "I'm not a follower."

Chauntea laughed, a sound like the wind in sheaves of barley, "I am the mother goddess. You do not have to follow my order to be my child. So, you have come to me at the Red Tree. That must mean you want something." Adahni stood, half in terror, and half wanting to throw herself into the goddess's arms and beg her for help.

"The blight in Ashenwood," Adahni said, finally, "Please, I need you to fix it."

"You are crying, my child," the goddess said. She reached out a long, tanned finger, and brushed a tear from Adahni's cheek.

"Please, Mother," Adahni said, "I need you to fix it. The Ashenwood. It's my only hope."

"It is done," Chauntea said, "Come here, my daughter. It is not all so hopeless as that."

"What?" Adahni asked, and all of a sudden she was wrapped up in an embrace that smelled of sweet hay and oatcakes. It was something she'd never felt before... a mother's arms around her.

"Mother..." she sighed, and totally lost her cool. She sobbed noisily into the goddess's bosom, "Mother I'm sick and I don't know why."

"Life is unfair, my daughter," Chauntea said, "Yes, you are carrying so many burdens. Yours is a difficult path indeed!"

"I need you to tell me," Adahni said, "I mean, this isn't my Red-Tree request or anything. That's definitely for the blight on Ashenwood. But... since you're here."

"I can try to give you the answers you need," Chauntea replied, "Consider this a bonus favor."

"I need to know that there's a reason for this," Adahni said, "A higher purpose. When I fought the King of Shadows, I could do it because I knew that if I did not, the world and everyone in it would come apart at the seems."

"That it will consume your very soul does not give you reason enough?" the goddess asked.

"Put yourself in my position, the path I've walked, the life I've lived," she said, "Do you not see how it might be easier for me to just let it go? Let it take me, and just fade into nothingness?"

"You have to understand that it is difficult for me to put myself in a human's perspective," the goddess said, "That's a strange question you've asked me. And, unfortunately, it is not for me to answer."

"Very well," Adahni sighed, wiping the tears from her face, suddenly embarassed.

"But you should drink tea made from mint and the herb known as Chauntea's grace," she said, "It'll help the nausea. I think you'll feel better once you've eaten something."

Adahni chuckled, "Thank you."

"Don't worry about it, my daughter," Chauntea said, "You've got many, many other things to worry about."


	30. Ten Thousand Stood Round Me

The woods had changed when they went through it again. The smell of rotting was gone, and Adahni felt calm as they trudged through the snow and back towards the garrison at Lake of Tears. The bard found several patches of Chauntea's Grace, a pretty little herb with a purple flower that could grow in any climate. The tea brought her strength, and she was able to keep food down like her old self. With her corporeal stomach full, the growling of her hunger for spirits was quieted some, and she was able to leave the telthor of the forest alone as they trudged through the snow. They stopped twice, once near Gnarlthorn, whose pain Chauntea had evidently eased, but who passed soon after they came, The next night, they slept in the shade of the great tree, basking in its warmth. On the third day, walking back to the garrison, Safiya caught up with Adahni.

"You've been too quiet," she said.

"I'm contemplating," Adahni replied, "The purpose of it all."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"As I've told you before," Adahni said, "I've borne a burden within me before. The shard of the Sword of Gith – it made it such that I was the only person capable of sending the King of Shadows back to whatever Gods-forsaken plane that Garius dragged him out from. I had to. I had no choice, or the world as we have known is would have come to an end."

"I'm not sure I follow."

"If the Curse of the Spirit Eater consumes me," Adahni said, "It finds a new host, and life goes on as it has in Rashemen for generations. And I can keep myself full, I think. I just... I don't see the point. The way I live, I have maybe twenty or thirty years left in this life... I just sometimes wonder if this whole thing is worth it, if I shouldn't just go down the river and accept my fate."

"That's rather nihilistic," Safiya said, "What has happened that you don't value your own life anymore?"

"It's not that," Adahni replied, "It's not like I'm about to hang myself from the nearest tree, I just... for the last two years I've been on the run, always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Plundering towns and robbing the rich and drinking until all hours of the night was fun at first, but now... I just wonder if saving that life is worth all of this trouble. I'm a pirate, after all."

"I suppose you could see it that way," the red wizard said, "But really, you've been a pirate for two years, you were a Knight Captain before that, and an adventurer before that, and before that a bard and before that a whore and before that a bard again. Boiling your whole life down into just being a pirate seems a little foolish given the number of hats you've worn in your admittedly short life."

"I'm just so tired," she said, "I wonder whether it wouldn't be better to lay my blade down. It's not like the world is depending on me this time."

"Do you really think so little of yourself?" Safiya asked, "The false humility thing is a little played out."

"I'm just so tired," she said, "I didn't mean to be dramatic."

"What about your... what's his name?"

"He doesn't have a name, really," Adahni said, after a long silence. She started to say Kyrwan, then Keowan, and then his last name, Bishop, which she had always called him by before they had gone on the run. The names didn't really matter. Names were just noises, after all. He wasn't a name. He was strong arms holding her tight when the cold wind tore through the pines. He was the feel of the cool water he brought her when she lay in her berth, half delirious with fever.

"Everyone has a name," Safiya said, "Does it pain you to say it?"

"I always called him by his last name," she said, "Bishop. Funny really, to call your lover by his last name, don't you think?"

"Yes, I suppose it is."

"His first name is Kyrwan, but he doesn't like it. He thinks it sounds like a woman's name," she said, chuckling, "But when we left Neverwinter, we left our names there. He became Keowan Kylasson of Kuldahar. I became Dania D'Shadizar of Athkatla. I don't know what he goes by at the moment. I've been calling him Keowan lately, I think he likes it... sounds less feminine I suppose." She chuckled again, "And there's a whole city state of people who call him the Betrayer of Crossroad."

Safiya's expression became distant then, and her eyes gazed into nothingness. In a faraway voice, she said, "So you have also loved a man named Betrayer," Safiya said.

"What?" Adahni asked, looking at her strangely.

"I don't know why I said that," Safiya said, "The thought came to me of a moment, I'm not sure why I put it like that. I suppose I could call Khai a betrayer of sorts. After what he did to me."

"I know," Adahni said, "I never told you how sorry I am that that happened to you, and offer my assurances that useless men like him will teach you a lesson or two by the time you're my age."

"You did," Safiya said, "You did say you were sorry. And I know that it's part of... growing up so to speak. But I thank you. I suppose that's why I'm so interested in hearing this from you, so forgive me if I press the matter. I just wanted to point out that this man, this Betrayer of Crossroad... you love him. Would you not continue your quest, for the chance to see him again?"

"I don't even know if he's alive," she said, "And if he is, I..." She hadn't known that she had this thought until Safiya had asked her, "I fear it would pain him more to see me eaten alive by this curse than to believe I perished in the storm."

"And you would deprive him of you, you would make that choice for him?" Safiya asked.

"I don't know," Adahni said, "But I am on my way now, I suppose, and that will have to do for the moment. Come, we may at least do some good in this place, even if it does me no good in the end."

They arrived at the garrison at midday. The berserker guards were busy, as per usual, fending off a herd of treants. Nadaj was at their back, supporting them with some fairly fearsome-looking spells. The treants felled two of the burly men who kept the garrison. The band approached, and joined the fight. Adahni used her fire, while Kaelyn succeeded in bringing down the wrath of the heavens on them, a scorching beam of light issuing from a hole in the clouds and turning the fearsome tree spirits into burnt matchsticks in seconds. Nadaj wiped the sweat from her brow and approached them. "Thank gods you've returned!" she whispered fervidly, "I must have a word with you."

She hurried them into one of the buildings, which was evidently her dwelling place. Slamming the door behind her and throwing the deadbolt, she stared earnestly at the band, "I think Dalenka is a spy."

"Dalenka is mad as a march hare," Gann said, "Thought I don't really know why march hares are madder than any other sort, but you get my meaning."

"I believe it's a ruse," said Nadaj, "She pretends to be an insane old woman so that we don't suspect the truth, which is that she is a durthan spy! I believe it was she who drove away the Wood Man, who has been causing all of the mischief in the Ashenwood!"

"What's a durthan?" Adahni asked. Nadaj was clearly growing frustrated with the group's inaction to this point.

"Bad witches," Kaelyn said.

"See? Was that so difficult?" Adahni sighed, "Well what would you like us to do with this information, Nadaj? If she is what you say she is, then she is probably powerful and, more importantly, doesn't give a fuck."

"Turn the berserkers," Nadaj said, "You've a tongue of silver, you'll be able to get them on her side. Once you have, she is only human. She will die."

Adahni felt a chill go up her spine. She didn't really like the way Nadaj had said 'She will die.' In fact, she didn't really like any of what was going on. They had spent the better part of a week wandering around the woods in the snow, and it seemed suspicious that as soon as they returned, there was infighting in the garrison. It all seemed too convenient.

"All right," Adahni said, "Go to the great ash tree in the Ashenwood. I will meet you there when it is done." Her companions looked at her, and she raised a hand to silence their dissent, "We will meet you there. That way, should the other hathran come down on you, you have some plausible deniability."

"You're very clever, aren't you," Nadaj said, but her expression and tone indicated that it was not a compliment.

"Some say so," Adahni said, "Hurry away, we must hurry, before any more durthan mischief is wrecked!"

Nadaj turned, and left. They watched through the window of the cabin as she strode out of the garrison and disappeared into the trees.

"Something's not right with her," Okku said, "I can't put my paw on it, though."

"She wandered off into the frozen wood without a cloak or boots," Kaelyn said, "I would say that qualifies as 'not right.'"

"Are we really going to attacked Dalenka?" asked Gann.

"No, we're not," Adahni said. She sat down on the plank that Nadaj called a bed, "I have an idea. It involves some very intense magic, and I'm not sure if I can do it."

"Well if it's some very intense magic, don't you think I could help?" Safiya asked, "You know... being a member of the most advanced college of magic in the land?"

"I'm sure a Hosttower Mage might start a fight over that remark," Adahni said, "But I am not one so I am going to let it go. But no, Safiya, the type of magic that I am talking about is exclusively in the realm of bards. You're familiar with how bardic magic works, no?"

"Tell me," Kaelyn said, "I've heard things, but nobody has really explained it to me."

"It's manipulating the emotions, and with it the body," Adahni said, "A cleric's healing spell calls on the powers of the Gods to heal miraculously, an arcane healer uses the weave to manipulate the body back into place, but a bard's healing spell is all about the mind. We reach into the mind and the mind tricks the body into healing faster than it otherwise would. It's the same for other spells, a "harm" spell tricks the mind into the believing the body is being attacked, and if the mind believes wholly that it is being attacked with a knife, it will form a knife wound in the body without ever being touched."

"This is an interesting treatise," Safiya said, "But I'm afraid that I don't quite see your point."

"We deal with the mind," Adahni said, "I have read about bards who are able to coax the mad out of their madness, and make them lucid. Even those who were powerful enough to drive it out of them entirely."

"And you think you can do this for Dalenka?" Gann asked.

"I don't know," Adahni said, "The inside of her mind is chaos. I would try to calm it, to draw her out from the forest so to speak, that we might actually talk to her."

"And how will you do that?" asked Okku skeptically.

"There are many songs about madness," Adahni said, smiling, "To most they seem like nothing more than nonsense. They don't really mean anything. But... but I do believe, based on what I've read, that they might be used to speak to a mad person."

"And you know a few of these nonsense songs?"

"I do," she said, "But you remember how hostile she was when we arrived the first time. I'd like you to come in with me. Restrain her if you have to. I don't know how long it will take to get into her head."

"Or if you'll be successful," Safiya said.

"Do you have a better idea?" asked Adahni.

"No, I suppose I don't," the red wizard said, "I just... I don't know if I trust a magic as chaotic as that of the bards to this task. Music is just noises."

"And the moment one of you arcane tricksters come up with something like it, I will gladly cede the floor to you, Safiya," Adahni said, "Come on."

They made their way across the encampment to Dalenka's house. Not bothering to knock, they let themselves in, to find Dalenka seated in her chair by the fire. The old woman was murmuring something to herself.

"Dalenka?" Adahni asked.

The old woman rose, leaning on her blackthorn stick. She was not angry, as she had been the last time they had seen her. She looked around absently with her milky eyes, which finally fell on Adahni. "I was mistaken," she said, her voice creaky with age, "You are not two, but three." She sat back down in her chair, and looked back at the fire.

"Dalenka, I need to ask you about Nadaj."

"I can't!" the old woman wailed, "There is too much shouting, such outrage! I cannot hear myself think for the wind!"

"Shhhh," Adahni hushed her, "I need you to listen to me. Don't listen to the shouting, listen to the words of my song."

She really would have preferred to have an instrument for this task. She cast about the room, which was chock full of curios and random assortments of things.

"Do you think you can work with this?" asked Gann. He was holding up what looked like a lute, though a bit larger, with a perfectly round belly.

"What's that?" she asked.

"A domra," he said, "It's sort of like an oud, I guess..."

"Let me see what I can do with it," she said, holding out her hand. She managed to tune it to a mandolin tuning, and was not surprised to find that, once she got the hang of it, the sounds were nearly indistinguishable.

Dalenka was watching all of it, seemingly actually understanding what was going on. Adahni found her fingering, and started playing the melody. She watched the old witch's face carefully, and when it was clear that she had relaxed, and was letting the music seep into her bones, she began to sing.

_In Nottamun Town, not a soul to be seen_  
><em>Not a soul would look up, not a soul would look down<em>  
><em>Not a soul would look up, not a soul would look down<em>  
><em>To show me the way to fair Nottamun Town<em>

_I bought me a horse twas called a grey mare_  
><em>Grey mane and grey tail and green stripe on her back<em>  
><em>Grey mane and grey tail and green stripe on her back<em>  
><em>Weren't a hair upon her that was not coal black<em>

"That doesn't make any..." Gann started.

"Sh!" Safiya hissed.

_She stood so still threw me to the dirt_  
><em>She tore at my hide, she bruised my shirt<em>  
><em>From saddle to stirrup I mounted again<em>  
><em>And on my ten toes I rode over the plain<em>

Before her, Dalenka seemed to relax. The color rushed into her withered cheeks, and her eyes appeared brighter, sharper.

_When I got there no one did I see_  
><em>They all stood around me just looking at me<em>  
><em>I called for a cup to drive gladness away<em>  
><em>And stifle the dust for it rained the whole day<em>

_And the King and the Queen and the company more_  
><em>Came a riding behind and a walking before<em>  
><em>Come a stark naked drummer beating a drum<em>  
><em>With his hands in his bosom came marching along<em>

The old woman rose, and looked out of the window, did a turn around the room, and returned to her chair.

_Sat down on a hard hot cold frozen stone_  
><em>Ten thousand stood round me but I was alone<em>  
><em>Took my hat in my hand to keep my head warm<em>  
><em>Ten thousand was drowned that never was born<em>

As the last note rang out, Dalenka rose, leaning on her cane.

"Nadaj is not what she seems," she said, "You must go to the Ashenwood, right away, as fast as you can. I cannot run anymore, it will take me four hours when you may get there in two. I will meet you there as soon as I can."

"But..." Adahni started, wanting to ask her what was happening, and perhaps most importantly figure out how her spell worked so that she could brag bout it later.

"There is no time for that now!" the crone cried, "You must away. There will be time for talking later!"

"Very well," Okku said, "I suggest we listen to the witch. Something has shifted in the forest, I can hear it on the wind. Something bad. We must go."

"Listen to the bear," Dalenka said.

"I always listen to the bear," Adahni replied. They existed the cabin, and went along to see what awaited the in the wood.


	31. The Betrayer of Crossroad

The town of Thaymount was a strange one. The banks of the river rose rapidly as they left Kiria Jazareen and climbed up and up and up. After three days, they had reached the villages on the outskirts of town, and by the fourth they were in the town proper. They set up at an inn owned by Rafa's uncle's brother-in-law where his mother had promised to send word once Hayat was taken care of. Shiren was excited by the city, and seized her fiance by the hand to to go look at absolutely everything at once. Bishop was not much of a fan of the dry, hot climate, and was happy to sit in the common room of the inn, drinking beer with Abu-Nisah and people-watching. He would have to go the academy eventually, he knew, but with the villages he'd marked on the way, he knew he probably had a month or more before the rest of the Dance of the Damned arrived in town.

He would wander about at night, doing his best to stay out of trouble, earning a few gold pieces here and there doing odd jobs. Of course, odd jobs for a man with his talents usually meant breaking kneecaps or threatening to amputate fingers unless debts were paid. He managed to stay a freelancer, not being beholden to any one petty crime lord. It was almost like being back in Luskan, he thought. He just had the air of a thug about him, and it attracted that sort of employment. He wasn't particularly afraid of the law, in places like Thay it was incredibly easy to get away with crimes, up to and including murder, so long as you knew the right people.

Urban Thayans were a strange lot. Quite a few red wizards, but everyone else dressed in robes of white or black. They came in and out, drank, and left. One woman in particular haunted the bar like a ghost. She was young, in her early twenties, her head shaved bald as was evidently the fashion in Thay at the time. She wore a white hooded robe, but once when her sleeve shifted back he could see the red wizard tattoos on her arms. She sat there, day after day, neither drinking, nor eating, but sometimes talking to herself.

One day, she approached him.

"Are you the Betrayer of Crossroad?"

His heart dropped into his stomach. He rose quickly, his hand on his knife, thinking that he would really prefer not to have to murder a woman in the middle of a crowded bar.

"Don't bother," she said. With a flourish of her hand, she had paralyzed him, "I'll let you go if you promise not to do anything foolish like that again. I need to speak with you."

"I don't have much of a choice, do I," he said. She released him, and he let his hand drop to his side. She pulled up a bar stool and sat next to him.

"How have you heard that moniker?" he asked, "You're not Neverese."

"No I am not," the woman said, "I am Thayan. I have heard of you, though, if you are who I think you are. You were born with the name Kyrwan Bishop, but you go by Keowan Kylasson now. You are running from something... the law I think. And you are looking for a woman named Adahni Farishta."

"Who are you?" he asked.

She looked at him, "I suppose there's not much harm in knowing that. I am called Tenisha," she said, "I have news of your love, and that is what matters."

"I'm listening," Bishop said.

"She is alive," the woman said, "She is alive, but she may not be for much longer if you do not do exactly what I say."

His heart sloshed around in his stomach again, "Why should I believe you?"

The woman reached deep into her robes, and took out a cutlass. It was rusted around the edges and clearly had not been sharpened, or used, in some time. The name scrawled on the handle of it was _One Bad Bitch. _Adahni had menaced seaside villages with that cutlass for years. She would not have willingly parted with it.

"She's suffering a curse," Tenisha said, "It is an evil burden she bears, but it is an opportunity in disguise. If she does not rid herself of it, she will die. I fear, though, that she has had her spirit beaten down nearly enough that she will just allow it to take her."

"No she won't," Bishop said, "She gets like that sometimes, but she picks herself up. Always has."

"Still, I think it might be best. You could help her, so to speak," Tenisha said.

"I'm listening."

"Come with me," she said, "To the Academy of Shapers and Binders."

"To the very lair of the red wizards?" Bishop asked, "You'll forgive me if I'm not exactly chomping at the bit to put myself in that position..."

"It's the only way," Tenisha said, "If you would save your love, this is what you must do."

He looked at Abu Nisah, who was asleep on the bar, and back at Tenisha. "All right. I guess I don't really have a choice, then." He wrote a note for Rafa and Shiren, wishing them luck. He had a feeling that he might not see them again.

He followed Tenisha through the dusty streets of Thaymount. After a fifteen minute walk, who should come barreling down the path before them but Davy the black dog. He gave a warning bark. He didn't attack Tenisha, as Bishop feared he would, but leapt onto his master's chest, a paw on either shoulder, his brown eyes pleading with him for something.

"What is it, boy?" Bishop asked, holding Davy by the ears. The dog began to whine piteously and hyperventilate, seeming very terrified indeed. _Don't go don't go don't go_ every high pitched breath said. He patted the dog behind the hairs, and backed up so that he fell back on all fours where he belonged. He let loose a strangled grunt that sounded like nothing more than a disapproving old man. Then he licked his master's hand, and bounded back off into the desert from whence he'd come. Bishop watched him as he took off to the north, and wondered if the silly mutt was off to find his mistress and tell him how incredibly stupid Bishop was being.

"That yours?" Tenisha asked.

"No, I'm just such a wonderful soul that the beasts of the wood flock to me for advice and squishy hugs," Bishop replied sarcastically. He was, of course, apprehensive. Anyone who'd heard even a fraction of the tales told about the Red Wizards knew enough to know that walking head first into the Academy of Shapers and Binders was bound to wind you up as the test subject for some horrific experiment or other.

"It's all right," the red wizard said, "I know men like you. You trust your dog more than you trust your own mother. It's understandable that he thinks you are in danger. The essence of the magic we do tends to upset the lesser creatures of this world."

"So you're saying you're not actually scary, you just smell scary?" Bishop asked, articulating what his forebrain had been telling his hindbrain since the two had first begun to converse.

"That is one way to put it," Tenisha said, "Come, let's go."

The Academy of Shapers and Binders stoop high on a cliff above the main part of the town, its sandy towers stretching like fingers into the blue desert sky. The gnoll guards let them by without any questions, but as they entered the main corridor, Bishop had one or two of his own.

"Why is the hallway littered with corpses?" he asked. Indeed it was, and not just any corpses, the corpses of red wizards still in their robes.

"That's quite a good question," Tenisha said, looking about. Bishop spotted the wizard before she did, and dragged her to the floor as a bolt of magic whizzed over their heads and scorched a hole in the heavy wooden door they had just come through.

"Good gods!" Tenisha exclaimed, winging back a blast of acid which caught their assailant full in the face, "Quickly, we need to get downstairs!"

The two of them sprinted through the halls of the academy, a maze-like mess of corridors, until they reached stairs descending down into the darkness. At the foot of it were what looked like dormitories, living quarters set off from the main hall, which was richly decorated with tapestries and mirrors. He caught a whiff of brimstone as they walked by one room, and a glimpse through the door revealed two enormous demons standing in their summoning circles where they were bound. Tenisha quickly dragged him past into a room at the end of the hall, bolting the door behind them.

"What is this place?" asked Bishop. He looked at the walls, and felt the cold panicking sweat start to drip down his spine. There were instruments there, clean and shiny, but no less terrifying when one thought about being operated on with them. The room was lined with beds, two of them occupied. One of the men was staring into the nothingness, not speaking. The other was making disgruntled old man noises. It was as nicely decorated as the rooms outside, but that just made the fact that he was likely about to suffer some awful experiment or another all the more insidious.

Tenisha said nothing, but began rummaging through a chest of drawers. He watched her. If she were distracted, he could probably overpower her. But then what? Run out into an academy full of fighting wizards without her there to give him any credibility? He moved towards her, his hand on his knife. Her instincts, though, seemed as swift as his, and she threw up a field between the two so he just walked right into an invisible wall, and wound up on his ass on the floor. She found an orb that looked as though it were made of glass, but was probably something much stronger considering the rough way in which she handled it.

"I'm dreadfully sorry I'm going to have to do this to you," she said, "But we really can't take any chances with her... she is so dreadfully important to the quest after all."

"Well fuck," Bishop sighed, "I've just been led like a lamb to the slaughter, now haven't I? Are you going to do to me what you've done to these poor souls?"

"Odd you should call them souls," Tenisha said.

He approached the man in the bed furthest from the door. He looked older, weaker than he had back in Neverwinter two years before, and the light in his tattoos had all but winked out, but there was no mistaking him. "Ammon Jerro?" Bishop asked, "What are you doing here?"

The old necromancer's eyes blinked open, staring bluely at the ceiling, "I don't quite know. I think I've been split in two."

"I assure you," Tenisha said. She waved her hand in the air, and Bishop felt his limbs grow leaden as a paralyzing spell washed over him and he fell to the floor, "If all goes according to plan, you will thank me for this. It's the least you can do."

He felt himself being lifted bodily onto one of the beds. Tenisha's fingers glowed with a kind of light and he felt extremely drowsy as she touched his temples with them.

"It's the least you can do," she said again, "For love..."


	32. Got Drowned, but Never was Born

The night began like any other. Kyrwan came home from school to the flat. It was early spring, but the smell of snow still hung in the air, and he knew that there was at least one more blizzard in store before the warm weather came again. He curled up by the hearth, as he did on cold nights when Kyla was working, and drifted off to sleep with the dying embers warming his back.

The fire was out when Kyla yanked him awake. She pulled him up with both hands on his collar. Her face in the moonlight was fierce and almost frightening. He swallowed a scream.

"Fetch a midwife," she said, "Tell them to go to Dayven's flat across the street. Don't take no for an answer."

It took a moment for his sluggish brain to register the command, "What's happened?" he asked.

"Don't ask questions!" she nearly screamed, and he could hear the panic in her voice. Without being asked again, he pulled on his breeches and threw a jacket over his undershirt. He took off into the frigid night, half walking and half running up the hill to where the midwife, and old crone named Nadie lived. The wind sliced into his lungs like so many knives, but he did not let up. He had seen Kyla beside herself with fear once or twice before, but he knew in his heart that something awful had happened.

He pounded on the door, once, twice. He stood there, breathing the air, trying to calm the fire in his lungs. Finally, he saw a candle get lit in the window upstairs and heard the creaking of stairs as someone came to the door.

It was the old biddy herself who answered him, her snow-white hair loose and hanging like silvery curtains around her knotted walnut face, which was lit eerily from below by the dancing flame in her candle-holder.

"What do you want, lad?" she asked, "It's past midnight."

"My sister needs you," he said, "Please, it's an emergency."

"Your sister, eh?" Nadie asked, "Does your sister have coin enough to get an old woman out of bed at this hour?"

"Please, ma'am," he said, summoning ounce of charm he had, "She's awful scared."

"I know women who've labored through the night without my benefit and given birth to many a healthy babe. Are you sure it can't wait until morning?"

"I know she'll pay you whatever it takes," he lied, "And she ain't having a baby."

"Really," Nadie said. She held the candle in her hand closer to him, "Well someone's bleeding an awful lot."

He looked down, and caught his breath to see that the place where Kyla had gripped him by the shoulders was now marked by two rusty handprints.

"Please ma'am," he said again, "Please."

"Very well," Nadie grumped, "But tell her the next time she gets knocked up that I like to meet my patients before they're all screaming and bleeding and pushing forth another sorry bastard."

He skipped along the street, the surprisingly nimble midwife keeping up with him the entire way. Thoughts raced through his head. Kyla's face had been pale, but she did not look injured. And she certainly wasn't with child. He'd seen pregnant women before, skinny and frazzled with their bellies blown out like sails on a ship, distending from their otherwise bony frames. Kyla always glowed with health, and her stomach was flat as it had ever been.

He heard the screaming almost as soon as he opened the door to the stairwell. It was a woman, or a man in such severe pain that his voice took on a high and hysterical quality. It chilled him to the bone, more so than any cold on the wind had. To Kyrwan's frustration, Nadie took her time with the winding stairs.

He burst into the flat. On the floor was a ratty mattress stuffed with straw, the walls lined with shelves. Kyla stood over the woman on the bed. Dayven was pacing from wall to wall, his green eyes wild and terrified. The woman on the bed barely had a face, her cheeks and eyes were so swollen. As she screamed, blood trickled from her mouth. She was convulsing, and he looked down to see that she was also bleeding from between her legs.

"About fucking time!" Dayven exclaimed. He took the old woman by the elbow and yanked her roughly towards the bed.

"If you touch me like that again I will curse you so that your manhood shrivels and blows away," Nadie said simply, jerking her arm back, "Get out of here, this is not a place for men."

"Like balls it isn't! That's my _son!_" he roared.

"And she's your wife!" Kyla shrieked, "And look what's happened to her! Get out!"

Kyrwan backed off towards the door, but Nadie stopped him. "You ain't a man yet, and we need the help. You, husband. Go fetch a priest, make yourself useful. I can see to it the child's delivered, but there's no way this girl's going to see the dawn without divine intervention."

The woman on the bed had stopped screaming and started making a horrible, pathetic mewling noise, half moaning and half sobbing.

"Don't look," Kyla commanded him. She moved away from the bed and moved to the corner, pulling Kyrwan towards her and hiding his head in her bosom.

"Boil some water, boy," Nadie said, "You, girl, come hold her down by her shoulders. There's no way we're getting this child from there to hear if she keeps thrashing around like that. Did her husband do this?"

"No," Kyla said, "But he might as well have."

Kyrwan put a kettle on the fire, and pretended to be watching it, all the while stealing glances at the woman. The midwife had peeled off her shift, and she lay naked. He saw her breasts, swollen and covered in red welts sprawl out across her chest. There were bruises on her throat, too, and he could have sworn he could make out the shape of a handprint where someone with huge fingers had choked her. Worst of all, though, was her belly. She wasn't that pregnant, he could tell, but she was certainly showing, and the skin of her belly rippled with movement as though inside her, a tiny life were writhing for its very existence, just as she was.

"There's no saving the child," Nadie said after about fifteen minutes of poking and prodding the woman, "If we don't get it out of her and do something to stop the bleeding, they'll both die."

"But it's not dead," Kyla said, "It's moving."

"It's only a matter of time," Nadie said, "We can lose the baby, or the baby and the mother. I can tell you which one I'd choose if I were in her position." Without further ado, the midwife rummaged through her bag, "After this she won't conceive again. Might be a blessing, if this is the kind of life she's leading."

"Can she swallow?" Kyla asked as the older woman pulled out a vial of an evil-looking dark brown liquid.

"Boy!" Nadie exclaimed.

"No, I don't want him seeing this!" Kyla protested.

"Hold her down," Nadie said, "Boy, come pinch her nose so she opens her mouth. She's delirious."

Cautiously, Kyrwan approached the woman from the head of the mattress. Kyla stood over her holding her shoulders down. Nadie insinuating herself between them, and when the woman had opened her mouth to take a breath, she emptied the vial down her throat. Kyrwan jumped back as he heard her gag. Nadie held her mouth shut and her lips closed with the wiry strength that old woman often possess. After a long minute, she let her go. She fell back on the bed, more blood dripping from her mouth.

"What's happening?" she asked. She turned her face, for her eyes were swollen shut.

"You're dying," Nadie said, "If you don't stop it now, you'll never come back to us. Now lie still, you're not going to like this."

The woman turned her head then. Her eyes opened a bit, as much as they could. She looked at Kyrwan without seeing him, her eyes were fierce and golden. It was Addie, the girl who'd given him the rent money. He couldn't bear to look at her face, scarred and swollen, or to hear her voice distorted with pain. He turned away, and stuck his fingers in his ears, staring at the fire in the hearth, wishing the rushing blood in his ears would die down. Is that what happened if you were hurt in a way you couldn't recover from? The blood just rushing from you? Soaking the sheets and dripping to the floor?

Kyla came up behind him and held him tightly. "You're being very brave," she said, "Thank you for your help. I need you to do one more thing?"

"What is it?"

"Take this," she said, handing him a wooden box, the sort that potion vials came in from the glassblower, "Throw it in the river, and whatever you do, don't look inside."

Why anyone had ever bothered telling a twelve year old boy not to look at something, especially when he had just force-fed Gods knew what to a pregnant and beaten woman, Kyrwan didn't know. He went to the river, to the place where he'd seen hitmen dispose of their kills. He watched them sometimes. The current there sucked the bodies underneath until they went way out to sea. Nobody was there, it must have been the wee hours of the morning. The moon was high, though, and he didn't need to light a match to see where the black waters lapped at the banks. He paused a moment.

_Don't look inside. _

He took a breath, and opened the box.

It was tiny, no bigger than a baby rabbit, and blue. He stepped forward into the moonlight. It had all the parts he had. Nose, mouth, fingers, toes, but all too impossibly tiny to live. Its little mouth was open impotently. He stared at it in morbid fascination, his eyes drifting over its arms, hands, all coated in blood. He stepped closer to the river.

And then he saw it. Clear as day, a tiny, perfect handprint against the top of the box.

It'd been alive. Drawn breath. Summoned all of its meager strength to throw itself against the top of its coffin. And then it had died. He'd carried it – had it died while he carried it?

He slipped forward and tossed it into the river. It floated a moment, and was sucked down by the current. _Gods. Gods almighty, you expect us to bow and scrape to you and yet you allow things like this to happen?! _He fell to his knees and gave up his dinner there on the bank. Retching, he pulled himself up, he sprinted all the way back home and pulled the covers over his head.


	33. Outrage

The walk to the great ash tree in the middle of the wood was oddly silent. No spirits loped over the snow, no trees shuddered and moved, no living animals chirped or grunted. The companions were silent as well, all lost in their own thoughts.

"Addie, look..." Gann said. They had come to the rise that came just before the great ash tree.

It was as though the entire forest had uprooted itself, all of the living essences of trees and earth had surrounded the great ash tree in the center. In the middle of the circle stood Nadaj. Only... it was not Nadaj. It was shaped like Nadaj, but it was as though a shimmering essence had been poured into a glass bottle in the form of her body. She stood there, translucent, amid the angry denizens of Ashenwood.

"I _knew _something was off with her," Adahni said. She stood there, nervously. Spirit animals, and other spirits, elementals and treants, flanked the Nadaj-but-not-Nadaj, but did not attack.

"As did I," Okku said, "I dismissed it as just a rumbling, a disturbance in the winds."

"What _is _it?" asked Safiya.

"It's what the Wood Man was protecting us from," Okku said.

"So when people say that the Wood Man is the protector in the forest..."

"He's protecting the rest of the world from that," Okku said, pointing with his paw.

"But what _is _it?" Safiya asked again.

"We are the outrage! The fury! The vengeance!" Nadaj shouted, but it was not her voice. It was a legion of voices, hollow and unearthly. Long have we festered, desiring only to protect, yet bound and suppressed by the one who purports to speak for these woods."

"Such power, unbound by law or leader," Kaelyn said, "It is the most dangerous thing in existence." The cleric gripped her weapon, white-knuckled.

"Where is the Wood Man?" asked Adahni. She wasn't quite sure that this strange being would answer her or even acknowledge that she had spoken, but it turned to her.

"He has failed. Has faded to nothing. Now we are all that protects. We are the need, the distress, the suffering!" Nadaj-but-not-Nadaj growled, "And you... you have come again to walk among us, to murder and corrupt us with your limitless hunger!"

The crowd of spirits behind the shell of the witch tensed all at once, poised to attack. Adahni flinched in spite of herself, "I wouldn't do that if I were you," she said. She felt her second stomach, the one that craved spirits, grumble. She'd been successful in suppressing her spirit-hunger for days, now that she was able to feed her regular body normally, but surrounded by the translucent telthor, she had the sensation of salivating. She felt a little guilty, knowing that this outrage in the forest was well founded, and knowing what she was about to do.

"We were threatened. We burned, we wilted, we yielded to parasites."

"Guys, you might want to look the other way," Adahni said to her companions, "I think I'm about to have an episode."

She felt her insides lurch, as though her body was about to expel her. This time, though, she was expecting it, and so it was not nearly as jolting as it had been before the spirit host outside the walls of Mulsantir. It was as though she was being spit out, and she floated above the Ashenwood, and could do nothing but watch as the curse took control of her body. Her body took the large spirits first, the elementals and the treants, seizing upon them and sucking them out of existence. Nadaj recoiled with every spirit she devoured, but raised her hands in the air and set the rest of them to attack her companions. She could do nothing, hovering, a small and insubstantial wisp floating above it all.

And then she saw something odd. In a flash, she was not in the Ashenwood at all. She was in a strange place, trapped, amidst the bodies of others. Her hands and legs were pinned, her face frozen, staring out over a vast and barren landscape. She tried to open her mouth to scream, but she could not.

And then agony hit her, not in her body, but in her heart. It was the first time she'd had her heart broken combined with the first time her father had been disappointed in her all tied together with the feeling she had holding her best friend's lifeless head in her lap. And she could not will it away as she could normally, feeling her hurt for a few days, and then letting it go. It was fresh, and raw, and awful, and unending. It could have gone on for a moment or hours or years, she would not have known. It felt as though time lost all of its meaning, and the only thing in existence was this jagged and bleeding pain.

And then it did end, and she was jolted back to Ashenwood, back to her body, where she was straddling the dusty neck of an earth elemental. She clung to him for a few minutes, but she was disoriented and soon it was able to buck her off its back, and she went flying and fell with a thud in the snow. Stars danced before her eyes for a moment, and if Gann had not been there to fell the elemental with his cudgel, it would have crushed her into the ground like an insect.

"STOP THIS AT ONCE!" a hoarse but powerful voice came booming over the wood. She looked, and at the top of the hill stood Dalenka, hobbling along, slowly but surely, on two feet and her cane. The spirits seemed to listen, too, to the commanding voice of the elder hathran. Everyone froze where they were, waiting for Dalenka to approach. She walked right up to ash tree, right up to that which had been the ethran Nadaj, and looked up at the entity, fury blazing in her now bright gray eyes.

"You are simply too old for this nonsense!" she scolded, whacking the shell that had been Nadaj with her cane, "This forest has stood for millenia, and still, the minute the Wood Man goes missing, you start acting out like a stand of saplings!"

Nadaj said nothing, but looked a little chagrined as the old woman read her the riot act.

"Now look what you've made her do," Dalenka said. She hobbled up to Adahni and offered her a hand up. Adahni took it, finding the old woman's grip surprisingly strong, "She's come all this way, ended your burning, expelled the frost giants, fixed the blight, and this is how you treat her? Not to mention driving me jabbering mad with your incessant chattering!"

The spirits retreated. With every word, magic came from the old hathran's mouth, blasting the spirits backwards. Adahni stood, taking stock of her bodily situation with both hands. There was a goose egg rapidly rising on the back of her head, and she was bleeding from a gash at the back of her neck. She would live.

"Be gone, there is no further need of you!" the old hathran commanded, and the spirits did her bidding, scampering back into the woods from whence they came. She turned to Nadaj, "And for pity's sake, let that ethran _go_! She's barely more than a child!"

Her words, again, worked some kind of magic. Nadaj jolted, this way and that, and then fell back, slumped against the tree. Her eyes flew open, as did her mouth. From her mouth poured some kind of magical essence, green and roiling. It flew from her, winding around the trunk of the great ash tree, and fading back into it. Nadaj, empty of that which had been possessing her, fell back, her eyes closed and her head lolling on her neck. At first, Adahni thought she was dead, but then her eyes flickered open again. They were no longer green as they had been before, but dark brown. She coughed, and took a breath, and stood up.

"What happened?" she asked. Her voice was different, too. Without the voice of the forest speaking through her throat, she sounded very young and childlike. Adahni felt a pang of pity.

"Good, you're not hurt," Dalenka said, "Come on then, girl, there's a lot of work we're behind on."

"You're just going to go?" asked Adahni, "Can you at least give me a clue as to what in the everloving fuck happened here?"

"The forest has a mind of its own," the hathran said, "It's temperamental. When the last one of you to come through here, and Wood Man went away, it was up to myself and Nadaj to keep it in line. It managed to knock me out, drive me half mad with its whispering, whispering, all day and all night, and take Nadaj for its vessel." She looked Adahni up and down again, "You're not like the others, are you."

"I like to think that," Adahni replied, "But I suppose that remains to be seen."

"You are," Dalenka said, "I can tell. But right now, we have other things we need to do. Nadaj?"

"What... what do you mean took me for its vessel?" Nadaj asked, "Who is this woman? Why is there a Red Wizard and a... a blue man here? What's Okku doing this far north? And what am I doing out here in the woods?"

"Hush, girl!" exclaimed Dalenka, "You and I have many long winter nights for me to explain what happened, once I've figured it out myself. But I have the feeling that this spirit-eater will not be here for much longer."

"Not if I have any say in the matter," Adahni said, shuddering, still adjusting to being back in control of her own limbs.

"I am not one to hand out praise like candy on the first day of winter," Dalenka said, "But that was quite a clever trick you pulled, with that song. What kind of sorcerer are you?"

"I'm not," Adahni said, "I'm just a fighter who sings silly songs. Or a bard with a terrible temper. I'm not sure which these days."

"We don't quite trust bardic magic, we of the hathran," Dalenka said, "But I suppose it has its place."

"But.. the Wood Man," Adahni said, "We've ended the burning, driven off the intruders, fixed the blight and sent whatever was possessing Nadaj out of her. Why has he not returned?"

"I do not know," Dalenka said, "It may be that he has been too badly hurt for too long. It may be he just doesn't feel like showing himself. But I can tell you this, he is growing stronger. If you will forgive us, it is a long walk back to the garrison. I am an old woman, and Nadaj may have been wounded in ways that are not readily apparent."

"Would somebody _please _explain to me what is going on?" asked Nadaj.

"Come on, girl, I'll tell you the whole sordid story on the way home," Dalenka said.

The young witch followed her mentor obediently. The companions watched them as they moved, one hobbling and the other walking slowly, until they disappeared into the trees. Adahni sat down in the snow, too frustrated to care as it melted and soaked through her breeches. Her brain had not had time to process what had occurred in the time she was outside her body. How she had gone from the damp, snow-blanketed Ashenwood to being trapped in a mass of humanity somewhere far, far away. _Was it a dream? Or was that reality, and is this a dream? Where does a soul go when it has been displaced from its own body? _She thought about what Dalenka had said when she was still in the throes of her madness. _You are not two but three._

"Addie, look!" Kaelyn exclaimed.

She snapped out of it and leaped to her feet. The old ash tree had begun to shudder and sigh. The snow shed from its branches, and fell to the ground. A glow began at the roots of the tree, and the glowing became a blinding brightness. Out of the brightness, the skeletal branches of a tree formed, and the tree grew leaves and bloomed as though it were springtime.

"Wood Man?" Adahni peeped.

The tree moved, leaned over, ostensibly so he could hear her better.

"I am all that creeps or walks, lives or grows, sickens or rots or dies," he rumbled, as though he were whispered in her ear, "Will you always be here when I wake, devourer of souls? Gorge on my life a hundred times, and you will never be sated... nor will I ever die, while the forest exists."

"I've been here before?" Adahni asked.

"The faces change, but the hunger remains the same. Why did you slay the parasite and call me forth, if not to feast upon me once again?" the Wood Man asked.

"I thought that perhaps you could help me, tell me what is this curse I bear?" she asked.

"You still do not understand what you are," the Wood Man said. It was very strange talking to him, for Adahni could not discern a face or anything resembling one from which she could read expressions and get the full meaning of his words. It was like speaking with a stranger through a wall, with so much subtext lost. He did not seem bothered by it, though, and continued, "Neither did those other faces, which hid the same hunger that you bear. They called it a gift. You think it a curse. It is neither."

"Then what is it?" Adahni asked.

"It is your _nature_," the Wood Man replied, "Hunger is what you are. You were not always thus. But how your nature changed is not known to me. Yet... I sense a wrathful touch upon your soul... the wrath of the God... a dead God."

"And how would a dead God do that?" asked Adahni. She had a sketchy knowledge of the life cycles of Gods. She knew that other beings, spirits, and even people, could become gods through various means. And she knew that, while Gods could "die," it was not a death in the way that people or animals died. It was more like exile combined with a drastic diminution of powers. So long as there were people to believe in a God, he would never actually die.

"A dead boar may fall into a stream, putrefy, and corrupt the waters. A dead tree may topple and rot, providing life for a million swarming ants."

"A lovely metaphor, but I don't know that it's terribly elucidating," Adahni commented, "What dead God might have done this?" _Not Cyric. Please not Cyric, _she thought, remembering the horror that the cult of Cyric had wrought on her husband and his companions in the Circle of Blades.

"An unfamiliar God... a stranger to the forest. Chauntea, Mielikki, Lurue, these are Gods that I knew in their youth, and their wrath is different in kind," the Wood Man said.

"I've got to get rid of it," Adahni said, "How can I get rid of it?"

"You cannot defeat your own nature. You must _be _what you are, and in being, you must finally succumb. To change your nature, to return to what you once were... most such changes are impossible. Burn a forest to ash, and you can only plant anew. You cannot change its nature. But you can teach it to obey. Perhaps... you might discover a way to restore, as well as devour," the Wood Man said.

She felt her second stomach twist, full of the life force of the spirits she had consumed. She remembered how she had brought the guardian of the portals back to life, in the rooms beyond rooms in the shadow of the veil. The Wood Man was weak, having just come back from where he was hiding. She concentrated on herself, feeling herself full of the spirit essences. She looked up at the wood man, the shining tree before her, and willed him back to life. Before her, he grew, stronger, and more substantial. She could feel the energy flowing out of her and into him. He stretched his branches to the sky.

"Ahh, I can feel some of my old strength returning, from before the Spirit Eaters came to devour me, again and again," the Wood Man said, "Perhaps I was incorrect. Perhaps your nature is not the same as the others."

"My predecessor's debt is paid," Adahni said, "And now, let's move on. Out of this cold."

"I know of a lovely spot to travel through, down in the south of Rashemen," Gann said, "It is on our way to the Sunken City."

"I appreciate your eagerness, Gann," Adahni said, "But I think we could all use a full night's rest in a real city. And I should speak with Sheva before we move on."

"Very well, my lemming," the hagspawn replied, "But our night beneath the Mosstone has me thinking, perhaps something may be learned by scrying in the Wells of Lurue."


	34. Death and the Ladies

Adahni's fatigue had lessened somewhat, and she was able to enjoy being on the water again as the witch-boat skimmed over the waters of the river and lake. Her companions were pleased, because her being awake meant that they could wheedle songs and stories out of her to pass the time. She found herself rather enjoying herself, singing something besides songs to pull on ropes to. She realized she had grown rather fond of Safiya, the two of them had a similar attitude, though Safiya had not been hardened by life quite as much as Addie had at her age. Still, what had occurred while the curse had taken over her body troubled her. On the day before they expected to pull into port in Mulsantir, she cornered Kaelyn in the bow, where she was stretching her wings.

"How can I help you?" she asked, seeing Adahni approach. The two of them hadn't really conversed with each other that often, and never about anything serious.

"Something happened to me, when I had that episode, back in Ashenwood," she said.

"When you went around gorging on spirits?" asked Kaelyn, "I confess I have always wondered how it feels to you, but I felt it would be impolite to ask."

"The first time, I blacked out. I don't know what happened. The second time, it was as though I were floating above the fight, outside the walls of Mulsantir. This time... at first I was floating above it, but then, it was as though I was waking from a dream, and I saw a place I've never been." She thought for a moment, trying to recall with detail what she had seen, but as she saw it in her mind's eye, she realized that it really wasn't all that remarkable, "It was a landscape, a flat rolling plane. I was looking out over it, over this vast and empty place... but that wasn't what was so strange about it. It was that I was trapped, my body was lodged in place and I could not move for the people around me. And I felt despair and heartbreak, and nothing I could do would ease my pain... and then I was back here."

Kaelyn's face grew troubled, her black eyes searching Adahni's expression. "It sounds as though you are describing the Wall of the Faithless."

"What would I be doing there?" she asked, "I'm not religious by any stretch of the word but I hardly qualify as faithless."

"That's a good question," Kaelyn said, "Another question is what your soul would be doing there when your body is still alive and walking the face of the world. My guess is, more likely, while the curse drove you from your body, you experienced a vision of sorts, a glimpse into the Fugue Plane."

"Strange indeed," Adahni said, "I thought the Wall was one of Myrkul's devices. Didn't Kelemvor get rid of it along with the other creepy shit?"

"Kelemvor has seen fit to retain it," Kaelyn said, her voice tight.

"You disagree with this decision," Adahni observed.

"Who am I to disagree with a God?" Kaelyn asked, a chord of bitterness struck through the still air of the lake, "I suppose I can understand. All of the chaos of Cyric's reign over the dead had left us all a little insecure."

"You're the first person I've heard acknowledge Cyric. Why does everyone always forget that part, conveniently?" asked Adahni, "That Cyric came between Myrkul and Kelemvor?"

"It was a time of a great upheaval on the Fugue Plane," Kaelyn replied, "We don't much like to talk about the reign of the Mad God. Souls, good and evil, chaotic and lawful, running through the planes willy nilly with no rhyme or reason or rules to keep anything in place. Perhaps that's why Kelemvor kept the wall."

"Because of Cyric? Isn't Cyric the perfect example of a path that is worse than faithlessness?" Adahni asked.

"Gods see us differently than we see ourselves," Kaelyn said, "I suppose when you become one, it changes you."

"You say we as though you and I are cut from the same cloth," Adahni said.

"We are," Kaelyn said, "I thought about it long, after you and I spoke on the rim of Immil Vale. You may deny your heritage, but that does not make it any less true. You may have been raised human, but that does not make you entirely human."

"I am at least three quarters human," said Adahni, "According to your siblings. Farishta is my father's name."

"Farishta!" exclaimed Kaelyn, chuckling, the bitterness at her talk of the Wall of the Faithless dissipating like thin ice in a rushing stream, "That explains a lot."

"What, you know him?"

"Yes," Kaelyn said, "Farishta, the trickster angel."

"He seemed quite somber when I met him," Adahni said, "Your brother and sister said they didn't know him."

"He's a strange creature, is Farishta. His own father was human, Amnese, I think. He was raised among humans. I think he finds the angels entirely too stuffy, so he's always trying to put one over on us. Fathering you was another act of rebellion, I would imagine."

Adahni thought of the very strange hours she had spent in her father's house. Nothing about him had seemed anything but serious, "He said that he fathered me because he was supposed to. Because the King of Shadows and all that nonsense. He said he saw my mother dying on the edge of a battlefield, and he knew that he must save her, and send her back home with me in her womb. He didn't seem mischievous at all to me."

"Well, he never was good at moving among the planes," Kaelyn said, "For whatever reason, it affects him, in the head. It may be that his nature changes when he goes from one plane to another. When he is on the Fugue Plane, he's all practical jokes. Kelemvor is not very fond of him, for obvious reasons"

"The more I learn about the man, the less I understand about anything," Adahni sighed, "And Kelemvor sounds like a real downer. I can see why you did not want to follow him. Why you chose Ilmater I suppose I will never understand."

"Do you not know the feeling of guilt?" Kaelyn asked.

"Of course I know what guilt feels like," Adahni said, "But it seems pretty unhealthy to let it weigh on you so."

"And what do you feel guilty about?" asked Kaelyn.

"Why would I tell you about it?" asked Adahni.

"Because that's what I do now. I no longer guide the dead to the City of Judgment, nor to the Wall of the Faithless. I am a Painbearer. I bear pain."

"What don't I feel guilty about is a better question," Adahni chuckled.

"Why did you laugh, just then?" asked Kaelyn.

"If you don't laugh, you cry," Adahni said, "And anyway, isn't it funny? Just a little bit? How seriously we take our feelings, when in the end, perhaps the pain we have caused wasn't really all that big of deal?"

"For someone who trades in emotion, you don't seem to take them very seriously," Kaelyn said.

"Well, considering how easily they can be manipulated, I've learned not to trust them implicitly," Adahni said.

"What about love?" Kaelyn asked.

Adahni chuckled again, "Love is a little hard to manipulate, you don't think?"

"Is it?" Kaelyn asked.

"If I could make a man fall in love with me, I would have done it long ago. No, I could always charm a man into wanting me for the night, or for an hour, for however many silver he would give me. But no, you cannot manipulate love. Love is entirely its own entity. It has a mind of its own, it doesn't care a whit for your plans, or what you would have happen," she said.

"I suppose it's rather comforting that you're not entirely cynical, given what you've been through," Kaelyn said, "Do you still feel that it might be better to lay down and die?"

Adahni felt her shoulder's slump, "I wonder... I wonder that when Bishop snatched me from the jaws of death two years ago, if he cheated death somehow. I think sometimes that that was my time, in the bowels of the Mere of Dead men, with my companions dead around me. It is such a different world I live in now, like night and day. These last two years have been stolen. I did not deserve them. They were not mine to have been living."

"And you think the curse is..."

"Death taking me back," Adahni said.

Kaelyn said, "I admit, considering my former line of work I am not terribly familiar with the nature of death, as a philosophical matter. If anything, I feel like you mortals have a better handle on it than we do."

"There's a song they would sing, whenever a plague struck us, back in Neverwinter Territories," Adahni said, "About how you cannot bargain with death. Death will have his way, for everyone, and none may escape it, not even kings and princes."

"Or gods," Kaelyn said, "Even a god may die. Would you sing that song for me? I've always been fascinated with how you deal with death. Considering how many funerals I've been to, stood beside the spirit of the dead before I took him from this place... I've seen a million deaths in a million families and not once have I truly understood."

Adahni thumped a rhythm on the wood of the deck and sang the song.

_As I walked out one day, one day_  
><em>I met an aged man by the way.<em>  
><em>His head was bald, his beard was grey,<em>  
><em>His clothing made of the cold earthen clay,<em>  
><em>His clothing made of the cold earthen clay.<em>

_I said, "Old man, what man are you?_  
><em>What country do you belong unto?"<em>  
><em>"My name is Death—have you not heard of me?<em>  
><em>All kings and princes bow down unto me<em>  
><em>And you fair maid must come along with me."<em>

_"I'll give you gold, I'll give you pearl,_  
><em>I'll give you costly rich robes to wear,<em>  
><em>If you will spare me a little while<em>  
><em>And give me time my life to amend,<em>  
><em>And give me time my life to amend"<em>

_"I'll have no gold, I'll have no pearl,_  
><em>I want no costly rich robes to wear.<em>  
><em>I cannot spare you a little while<em>  
><em>Nor give you time your life to amend,<em>  
><em>Nor give you time your life to amend"<em>

_In six months time this fair maid died;_  
><em>"Let this be put on my tombstone," she cried,<em>  
><em>"Here lies a poor distressed maid.<em>  
><em>Just in her bloom she was snatched away,<em>  
>Her clothing made of the cold earthen clay."<p>

As she let the last note die out over the water, the sun slipped beneath the waves and the world grew dark. She could see, off in the distance, the twinkling lights of Mulsantir. She wondered if she had it in her to keep going, if she could continue to steal time from Death.


	35. Another Brick in the Wall

It was very dark for a very long time. He felt as though he were sitting on the edge of a precipice, but his eyes could not make it out. The he became aware of the movement. He blinked, and the world began to take blurry shape before him. He was looking at the floor, and it were as though he were being carried, swinging this way and that in the arms of whomever was bearing him along. He saw something dangling down by his side. It was a hand. He recognized the star-shaped scar in the middle of the palm, and realized that it was _his _hand. Dayven had put a pick through his hand, pinning it to the dining room table. He didn't remember what his sin had been, but that'd been the punishment. He'd freed himself, then taken it gingerly out of his hand. He'd stitched it up as best he could, but it was thanks to a kindly fellow apprentice, not his surgical skills, that he still had full use of it.

As his vision grew clearer he realized that there was something wrong. It was hanging at the wrong angle. He looked beyond, his eyes scanning up his arm to his shoulder to his head...

He was looking at his own face, asleep but seemingly contorted in pain. He felt no pain himself but... well which was himself? Who was the being that was looking at the face of Kyrwan Bishop, who had his memories, but was not in his body? Whatever was going on, they were both being taken somewhere. He found he could look all around, 360 degrees, now that his sight was not bound to the limitations of eyes and a head that could only turn to left and right. He was in a mesh bag of some sort, being carried by a woman in white robes. Next to him, his body was being borne along by a gnoll in the same uniform as the ones who had been guarding the academy. They were going up stairs, up and up, and then up again.

"She's written a note," the woman said. Tenisha. Tenisha was her name, "Oh gods almighty, she's had to retreat to the sanctuary! Quickly, bring him in, we will have to lock the door behind us that none may follow. This is going to be a hellish walk among the planes, I can already tell.."

He heard the creak of a door being opened, and a clang as it closed behind them. Then a faint magical humming, and a series of clicks as though a complicated an arcane lock had been engaged. He swung his gaze up, and saw before them a glimmering portal. He had a brief flash of memory, of a portal like that, through which he could see shimmering clouds. He had watched Adahni go through such a portal, and then had it close behind her when he tried to follow.

There was no such problem this time. First the gnoll carrying his body and then the woman carrying him went through the portal. What lay on the other side was no shimmering cloudy paradise as it looked. It was a dark place. He realized that he had no sense of smell within this spherical prison, but imagined it smelled cold and dank and despairing. The path was littered with bones, some as small as the fingerbones of children, some that must have come from someone the size of a giant or larger. The air was slashed through the wails and screams.

"We are in the Boneyard of the Gods, where all of the dead gods lie," Tenisha said. He tried to speak to ask if she was talking to him, but she did not hear him. They hurried along, through the darkness. There were people there, too. Guards of the dead gods. They passed tombs, mausoleums. Myrkul. Bhaal. All gods that had perished, and their faithful guarding them.

"Hold!" a voice came.

He looked. If he'd had a stomach, he supposed it would have sunk. It did not, though, and he really felt nothing, although his mind was telling him to run, or to fight. Standing before them, in the garb of a Doomguard of Cyric the Mad God, was none other than his master, and tormentor, Dayven Elhandrien.

"Why are you carrying that lout through the Boneyard of the Gods?"

"Don't speak to him," Tenisha warned, "He is not who he was."

They hurried along, leaving Dayven with the rest of Cyric's guards. He called after, "You're only getting what you deserve, you traitorous wretch! May you rot in the Wall of the Faithless until the end of days!"

_The Wall of the Faithless. _

_Oh no. I'm fucked. _

They kept going, finding a portal at the other end which led them through into what looked like a shadow version of Thaymount. They went through, and they were in a cool, dry space. An ancient stone building, from the look of it. Tenisha put him down, and the gnoll put his body down.

"Be gentle with that!" a old woman's voice said. He looked to see an old crone, ninety or more, bald as a newborn babe and her face a web of wrinkles. She came to his body, looking at it tenderly with pale eyes. She surprised him, leaning down and picking up his body, which couldn't have weighed less than a hundred seventy pounds, cradling it like he were a child. She laid him down gently on a bed in the corner of the room. "He's going to need it again."

"I don't like this, Nefris," Tenisha said, "It doesn't seem right."

"I do not want to have to give you a lecture on the all-important relationship between the ends and the means, my Tenisha," the old woman said.

"I guess Lienna did not question you like this."

"Lienna was older than you," Nefris replied, "But you and she are one in the same. Because she understood the need for this, so shall you in time. We will keep his body safe and breathing here, none will touch him. And when she reaches the end of her quest, she may have him back."

"But if she fails," Tenisha said.

"Then they will both perish," Nefris said, "But she must not fail. She will realize the magnitude of her quest, and she will gather her will to succeed, much like she did on the Sword Coast. Now, must I take his soul to the Wall myself, or will you do it?"

"I will do it, Founder," Tenisha said.

"Put him next to her," Nefris said, "It will make things easier. Make sure it's in a place she will see. All of this will be for naught if she does not realize what's been done."

"How do you know she will see at all?" Tenisha asked.

"They are going to the Slumbering Coven. Safiya's eyes and ears have told me so, just as they have told you the name of this one here. When they reach there, they will find out what we have found out. She will see for herself the injustice of the Wall of the Faithless, and she will complete the Crusade as we have planned."

"I still don't like it," Tenisha said, "It seems cruel."

"Cruelty!" Nefris exclaimed, "Cruelty is what's been done to those poor souls stuck there for eternity. No, these two will be there for three months at the most. And perhaps take home a lesson on the meaning of cruelty and injustice."

Tenisha picked him up then, he could see the lines her fingers as she did so, and looked into her eyes as she looked into the orb that housed him. "I'm sorry," she said, "I know I said so before, but I truly am sorry for what I'm about to do. Come along now, it'll all turn out for the best in the end."

_Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. _He willed his thoughts into her head. She either did not hear his insults, or chose to ignore them. She put him in her pocket then, and everything was dark.

_What is she going to do to me? Is she really going to stick me in the Wall of the Faithless? But I'm not even dead! The old woman said herself, I'm going to need my body again, right? So why are they doing this?_

He saw the daylight again after an hour or so. They were before a great wall stretching as far as he could see into the distance. As they drew closer, he could see that it was not made of brick or stone, but of bodies. Or something like that. The forms of men and women, bent and contorted in pain. Tenisha took him out of her pocket, drew her arm back, and cracked the soul casing he was being carried in against the wall. The souls shifted, and drew back, and he felt as though he were being pulled, sucked out of the now broken orb and into the wall. Strong forces bound his hands and legs, and he was stuck, and no matter how he tried, he could not free himself. He looked around. To his astonishment, he saw people he knew. There was his father, the old bastard, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction that the old man would be spending eternity with his face in the armpit of a rather hairy dwarf.

But there, who was that?

There was Addie, but it was not Addie. It was only part of her. The eyes of the others followed him, but hers did not. She was not in pain. It was as though her consciousness had not been removed along with her soul, as his had. It was just a shell of her.

But an important shell. He understood at the moment what was at stake. Whatever was going to happen, if she perished while her soul was still stuck here, in this miserable place, in this plane of punishment, then her consciousness would follow her soul there, and she, too would be trapped in this place of unrelenting agony for all of eternity.

What was it the old woman said.

_She will come along eventually. And she will see. _

_Well shit, Bishop, I guess you're just going to sit here, stuck in this wall like a great bloody fool and wait for her to come along and rescue you. That's what I get for trusting a gods damn red wizard. _

_Ah well, at least I've got my sanity. I can hang out here with my thoughts and contemplate the meaning of fucking life. Ugh, but the reason I've managed to not become a blithering madman all these years is that I never had time to think about it. _

_This is going to be a very long wait, isn't it. _


	36. A Midwinter's Journey

Winters were fiercer in Luskan, along the choppy waters of the Sea of Swords, than they were inland in Barnslow. Kyla always managed to get it together to keep her brother warm, accepting donations from her colleagues with other sons and spending what she could on woolen breaches and socks and boots for the boy's rapidly growing feet. The year in which Kyrwan would turn twelve was a lean one, though. Kyla was in her mid twenties by this point, but looked older, still lovely most of the time, but she'd caught an infection the year before that kept her coughing raggedly and gaunt as a wraith when she had a spell. They would last a week or two, and then she would glow with health or another month before she fell ill again. But when she was sick, few men would pay for her company, and those who would would treat her worse and pay her less. And Kyrwan was shooting up like a weed in spring. He did his best to hide from her the chillblains on his ankles from where his too-short breeches left his lower calves exposed to the biting wind and the snow melted through his threadbare socks.

On Midwinter's Night, he came home late. The Trovos had had him over. He did his best not to wolf down the food in front of him, but he could barely help himself. He was never hungry, precisely, but he was rarely full, either. Kyla was working that night, comforting soldiers and sailors far away from their families for the holiday. Mrs. Trovo had left the whoring life behind the year before – her present to herself for having made it to thirty-five without being murdered or catching something deadly – and taken up knitting, selling socks and blankets and gloves out of her house on the docks. She presented an oversized set of woolen socks to Kyrwan with a wink. The walk home to his flat was not nearly as uncomfortable as the walk to the Trovos' had been.

What he found there, however, would have put a chill all over him, wool socks or no. Kyla was out cold, her eye swollen shit and a gash on her forehead. She'd gotten into bed. Karnwyr, the puppy she had bought him for his eleventh birthday, had grown into a lean, gray creature with shaggy fur and perky ears, obviously more wolf than dog. The hulking she-wolf was sprawled out at the foot of her mistress's bed, protecting her from whatever other evil could befall her. She opened yellow eyes at the boy as he walked in.

"Lad."

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Karnwyr uttered a rumbling growl, obviously not intended for him, but for whomever had just addressed him.

Out of the shadows in the corner of the flat melted a black-cloaked figure. As it came into the flickering firelight of a midwinter's night, Kyrwan recognized the green eyes and yellow hair of Dayven the assassin. He seemed sober this time.

"What happened?" he asked without intonation.

"I've got a midwinter's present for you, lad," Dayven said.

"What happened?" Kyrwan asked again.

"Found her in the alley outside the Cuckoo's Nest," Dayven said, "Addie and I dragged her back here."

"Do you know who did it?"

"That's your present," Dayven replied, "You're going to have to put this on."

He handed Kyrwan a length of black fabric. Obediently, Kyrwan tied it over his own eyes.

"How old are you, lad?"

"Eleven, about to be twelve."

"Good lad," Dayven said. He took him by the shoulder and guided him down the stairs out into the street, Kyrwan knew where the gaslights were along the road. He peeked over the top of the blindfold, and saw one light in one window across the street. Dayven's wife, the blackhaired barmaid, was standing in the window, looking down at them. Both of her eyes were blackened, and she was holding a handkerchief to her nose. He quickly pulled the blindfold up so he couldn't see her.

At first, he was able to tell where Dayven was leading him. He prided himself on being able to tell where he was at all times without his sense of sight. He knew they were passing one of the flophouses down on Fisherman's Row – the smell of stale piss and fish guts was distinctive. Then the tobacconist's shop with its sweet, dusty pipeweed smell, and the sound of the ship timbers creaking in the waves as they reached the spot where the buildings tapered off and there was nothing between them and Luskan Harbor.

Then they turned inland. He could tell by the way the streets sloped uphill. If he were correct, they were taking one of the smaller roads, near the northern part of the harbor. Its incline was not as steep, but it was not lit after dark and made a good place for those who were up to no good. He paid close attention to the street. It got steep very quickly, and then again it was a gentle slope.

They got out of the docks district. He could tell as the sound of the waves pounding the jetties disappeared into the distance. He wasn't familiar with this part of town, not up this street. He knew what happened to young boys who wandered away from the beaten path in Luskan. He felt a little silly, near grown, but he took comfort in the assassin's hand on his shoulder, guiding him.

All of a sudden, he was aware of two other people beside him. He could hear their breathing, their footfalls on the damp cobblestones. One was a human woman, the other was male, but not human. Elven maybe, or half-elven with the build of an elf.

"Are you going to kill me?" he asked.

"Of course not, lad, why would I do that?" asked Dayven.

"Why are there three of you?"

"Because we want to be sure you arrive in style," Dayven replied.

They had come to a place that was very unfamiliar indeed. He caught a whiff of expensive spices. Someone was having mulled wine with their Midwinter's Feast. His footfalls echoed with a different quality, too, as the sound bounced not off of the plaster and wooden structures of the docks but off of the fine stone walls that supported the turrets and towers of the rich mens' houses further inland.

"Arrive in style where?" he dared to ask.

"Where do you think?" Dayven asked.

He knew better than to ask again, and instead turned his mind to memorizing things about this route. They had obviously blindfolded him to prevent him from finding it again on his own once they'd let him loose. That meant they intended on letting him loose, which he considered to be a good sign. It also meant that wherever they were taking him, it was a place that was secret enough that they didn't want him wandering in off of the street, but not secret enough that they wouldn't allow an uninitiated eleven-year-old boy in in the first place.

They took a hard right turn, and he could hear that the walls of the buildings around them had drawn close together. He could see some dancing lights through the black blindfold, too, but smelled no smoke, meaning this place was lit not with torches or gaslights, but by some type of magic. He heard a door open in front of them. Well-oiled hinges, nothing creaked, but by the noise it made as it hit the wall beside him he could tell that it was of some heavy wood – oak or maple – and banded with iron. It was not a door to be trifled with. Dayven guided him in, warning him about the step, which he took. The door swung shut with a dull thud behind them, and he heard a deadbolt being thrown across it.

They took the blindfold away, and he rubbed his eyes. They were in a large room, with no doors save the one they had come through. The ceiling was low, and it was lit by flickering torches. The ceilings were made of wood, meaning they were on the ground floor of some building or another, but the walls all around it were the gray stone that all of the buildings in the wealthier districts were crafted from. The floor, too, was paved with gray flagstones, but they were stained. He knew that stain. It was the same stain that had marred the kitchen floor at home, no matter how many times Mother had tried to wash it down. Father had always tracked in blood from the killing floor in the barn, which had stained the flagstones of the kitchen a dark and rusty brown. So too were the stones of this room. The blood seemed to carve a dried river to a drain in the corner. He followed it, and saw that it lead to a stone chair, fastened to the ground with great iron bolts.

In the chair was a man, a great fat man. He was bound, and the ropes cut deeply into his soft flesh so that it stood out in purpled bunches between the knots. There was a hood over his head, but Kyrwan knew almost instantly who it was. Edrick Falringer, father of that pig Rigard, one of Kyla's johns who was training his son up to be just as loathsome as himself.

"I told you I had a present," Dayven said. Kyrwan looked up at him. His green eyes were bloodshot in the torchlight, and his teeth white as he grinned down at the boy.

"What do you say, lad?" one of the other assassins grunted at him. Kyrwan looked. Under the hood was, as he had thought, an elven man. He was pale-skinned and darkhaired, probably at least one-quarter drow, though the rest seemed to be wood or moon elf.

"Thank you," Kyrwan said, uncertainly, "Am I supposed to kill him?"

"No," the third assassin said. Her voice was high and babyish. She looked to be in her late teens, not much older than Kyrwan himself, "Guild rules would prohibit that."

Dayven walked up to the man and snatched the hood from his head. Edrick's eyes bulged, blue and bloodshot, and rolled this way and that, "I'm sorry!" he exclaimed, "I didn't mean to offend anybody! I swear! I just wanted to..."

"You wanted to sell secrets out from under the nose of the Master of the Fifth Tower," Dayven concluded the sentence, "You wanted to cross Black Garius himself for personal gain. Do you not think he knows how long you have been in the pay of the Ruathym?"

"It was only a dusty old book!" Edrick cried, "Really, it had been sitting in the library for years and nobody had touched it! Please, what harm could I have done? I've a wife, and a son! Please, spare me! I'll leave Luskan forever, I promise, and you shall have my estate, my wealth, anything!"

"Your wealth!" scoffed Dayven, "And what care the loyal servants of Cyric for wealth?"

Kyrwan's eyes went wide as he saw the fear wash over Edrick's face, his eyes rolling in terror as he realized exactly whom he was dealing with.

"All my lands to make it a quick death," he said, his voice hoarse.

"That's not up to me," Dayve said, "That would be up to his young man right here." He walked up to Kyrwan and slung his arm about his shoulders, "I've brought you here to teach you not to steal from your masters, but I think that while I'm at it, I should teach you not to mistreat your whores."

"You!" Edrick looked at him. He didn't recognize him, didn't know the boy who sat in the back of the class whenever he came by to escort Rigard home, "You, lad, I've a son about your age. You wouldn't torture a man like your father, would you?"

Kyrwan snickered, "You've clearly never met my father, if you believe that." His voice sounded sure and forthright, but his gut was churning. He had dreamed sometimes of slicing men up, those who were cruel, those who had hurt him and his sister. He had a particularly lovely one about his own father, of seizing his head in some sort of mechanism that would tighten and tighten until his skull cracked like an egg, just like Dad used to do to him when he was little, squeeze his little head until he was afraid his skull would cave right in. Now, though, that a target was bound and begging before him, he didn't know.

"Lad..." Edrick said, his voice pleading.

Kyrwan looked up at Dayven, "Why bother?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Dayven asked.

"You ain't asking him nothing. Why bother torturing him?" he asked.

"Cyric commands it," the lady assassin said coldly.

_What a strange command from a God, _he thought, but did not say.

"Cut his hands off if you want," he said, "I don't give two fucks about this nobody. He's already dead."

This seemed to be the exact wrong – or exact right – thing to say. Threats of loss of land and home and wealth and limb were nothing, but when threatened with obscurity. "How dare you?" Edrick roared, "Do you not know who I am?!"

"Nobody will know who you were," Kyrwan said. The desperation in the man's voice touched him somewhere on the inside, and the fear and pain tickled him. He thought about those fleshy fists on his sister's face, and poked at the wound a little more, "You will not be known as a traitor. Your name will be erased from the record books. None will know that you were in the employ of the Master of the Fifth Tower. None will know of your treachery. You will not exist." The idea of the physical torture did not appeal to him. He didn't really care for blood or guts – his father's trade had left him with distaste for that – but listening to the fear in a person's voice, watching them cringe and cower and wet themselves – that appealed to him greatly. Now he had found it, the one thing that Edrick feared most.

"Lies! My wife, my son, they will tell of me!" Edrick cried, "Do whatever you will to me, I will be remembered!"

"Your wife will find some other fatass with a purse to hang onto, and your son might actually have a chance or receiving some come-uppance and keep from turning in to a toad like you," Kyrwan said, "With your name forgotten, none will come to his aid."

"I am Edrick Falringer! My father was a Squire of Luskan!" he cried.

"Don't you understand?" the boy asked, his voice high and cold as ice, "Nobody cares."

Dayven punctuated this statement by pulling his hand back and driving his curved dagger through the back of Edrick's neck, severing his spinal cord. The lord convulsed once, twice, his fat jiggling as he did, and he slumped over in his chair, his face too his fleshy bosom.

"You're very clever," the elven assassin said, "How old are you?"

"I'll be twelve near the equinox," Kyrwan said, truthfully.

"You've a presence about you already," he said, "You struck fear into him, even at your size."

"I told you, the lad is a natural," Dayven said, grinning. Kyrwan was distracted, watching the blood drain from the corpse in the chair and through the grate on the floor, "He'll be of age soon enough."

"I'd like to go home now," Kyrwan said. The corpse was making him uncomfortable. Its eyes were open, wide and blue with shock. For him, it was now and would forever be the moment of his death.

"Past your bedtime, eh, lad?" the woman assassin said, "It's all right. Dayven will take you home."

He put on the blindfold himself again, grateful not to see the staring, lifeless eyes of Edrick Falringer anymore. He couldn't concentrate on mapping the streets in his head on the way back, could see nothing but the way the man had convulsed, his fat flapping, sweat dripping down his smooth skin, the blood draining into the floor. It was not the first corpse he'd seen, not by a long shot, but it was the first once he'd seen die before his eyes. His mind drew an odd parallel, remembering the tiny corpse that had been born and died all in an hour nearly a year before.

They came to his stoop. Dayven removed the blindfold, and melted off into the night. Kyrwan dragged himself up to his flat, where Kyla was still asleep. He sat by the window and watched the gaslights' dancing flames for a moment. There was one light on, still, the window in Dayven's flat. Funny, the assassin did not go home. He had just gone. But the girl, Addie, was sitting in the window, smoking, and taking swigs from a bottle of pale amber whiskey. He could see the tears shimmering on her cheeks as one, and then another squeezed from her swollen eyes. He knew who had roughed up Kyla, the man who sat, dead in a chair, somewhere inland. He wondered who had laid his hand on the little barmaid, and if she had given out as good as she's gotten.

As he wondered that, he saw her rise, and staggering, rear back and throw the nearly empty bottle of whiskey out of the window. He heard it shatter on the cobblestones, and made a mental note to watch where he stepped the next day, "Fuck you Dayven Elhandrien," she slurred, "And fuck you Luskan! A curse on this city!" She hiccuped. "Fuck all of this."

He hurried back, shut and bolted the window, and went to bed.


	37. Stories

_Author's Note: if anyone is still reading this, I do fully intend to finish it! I know the ending and everything!_

Whether it was the surge of strength the Wood Man had bestowed upon her, her ability to keep her food down, or that it was getting towards springtime, she felt much better as the witch boat docked itself in the port of Mulsantir. She skipped down the gangplank, whistling a tune, and made her way over to the Sloop to drop her things off. The troupe was rehearsing again. Their costumes had improved, the armor looking like armor and the actor playing Sand's ears much better crafted. The actor playing Casavir had been replaced with a taller, more handsome one, and the man who had played him before appeared to have been relegated to the role of Sir Nevalle. The actress playing Addie had traded in her wig, which sat beside the stage rather sadly, and had dyed her hair black. The real Addie sat herself in the corner of the room. It was midday, and with the exception of a few redfaced old drunks, she was the only one there. She sipped, more out of habit than anything else, and watched the the rehearsal out of the corner of her eye.

They had moved on to the second act. The first act, evidently, had been the one that ended with story-Addie being seduced by the villainous, traitorous Bishop. The second act, it seemed, was her redemption, her leading the armies to defeat the ancient Guardian, and her death beneath the Mere at the end. She had to admit, as she watched the actors stumble over their lines, it was rather well-crafted. The story itself, she felt, had been made a bit trite and meaningless, but the writer was talented and most of the actors too, and she felt herself almost really believing it, forgetting that the girl on the stage was supposed to be her, and admiring the character itself

After the rehearsal had ended – with Adahni and Casavir pledging their eternal love and then dying in each other's arms – the director approached the table, having doffed his elf-ears and wig. He was rather young, pale-skinned, and brown-haired, but he walked with the confidence of an older man.

"So what do you think?" he asked. Evidently word had gotten around, and he knew exactly to whom he was speaking.

Adahni chuckled, "You have a way with words," she said, "Master..."

"Nikolai," he said, "Or Niko, if you must. But what I was asking was what do you think of the story?"

"You almost had me believing that your version is what really happened, and that I had made up the rest." She paused, taking another sip from her beer, and knitted her brows, "Then of course that would mean I was dead, so I suppose it's not all that credible."

Nikolai chuckled, "You're a bard yourself, you should know better than to tangle yourself up in credibility. And you understand the importance of knowing your audience."

Adahni nodded, knowing the power it was to hold a crowd rapt, hanging on her every word. She wondered at the power it must be to direct others to do it for you, and soak up the attention that way. She imagined herself in a silly costume, on stage, or telling the actors what to do, and had to catch herself from shaking her head at the ridiculousness of the notion.

"I've gotten myself out of trouble many a time using that particular knowledge," she sad, nodding, "So tell me, why is it that you chose this version of the story? I know that it's the official word out of Neverwinter, but considering the tales we get fourth-hand from Rashemen are almost certainly overblown and subject to many permutations, I imagine that there must be many directions you could take this one in. Why make me a hero? Do the people of Rashemen really prefer all that swords and sorcery, good and evil nonsense?"

Niko looked a little put out, ostensibly at her calling his work, 'nonsense.' "We live in a place where the veil between the worlds is very thin," he said, "And everything is complicated, most of all morality. Can you not see the appeal of a more traditional tale? One where the innocent girl from Westharbor saves the world and dies in the arms of her noble knight?"

Adahni felt a little put out by this, remembering the reality of those years and herself quite differently, "I didn't think there was anything morally ambiguous about the real story. I was anything but innocent," she said, "You've got the tale backwards. It's not the story of an innocent girl defeating evil, not at all. It's the story of a young woman stooped by the world learning to cast off her burden." She paused, surprising herself with that bit of insight. That is what had happened. She'd run from Luskan, two years before, but she had not truly let her past go until that morning, rolling in the snow, broken leg and all, in the arms of a man who had betrayed her.

"But... it's more traditional," the director said again, "Of course there will always be the women who say she should have chosen Bishop, but all in all, Casavir is the more popular choice, among those who like the story."

Adahni felt a bit vulnerable, to think that people in a land she'd never laid eyes on a month or two before were discussing her personal life choices from nearly two years before.

"What do you mean, popular choice?" she asked.

"Well, one in three women who hear the story will say, 'Bishop sounds much more interesting, she should have chosen him,' while the other two will say, 'Oh, how romantic, how I would love to meet a man like Casavir.'"

"That's fucking creepy," Adahni said, "He was a man. Both of them. Just men like the ones the married ones go home and sleep beside, like the one that maidens get their arses pinched by. Just men..."

"But here, they are the men that exist only in the imaginations of women... and a few choice types of men of course," Niko said.

"It's strange," Adahni said, "To think that a person of flesh and blood could become something like a canvas, and empty book, something for people hearing their story to paint their own imaginations on."

"You don't understand, Adahni," Niko said, "They're not talking about you, they're talking about a character in a story. When I brought the tale here from Bezantur last year and began telling it in the bars here, I tweaked it, I told the versions that got me the most gold and invitations to perform at banquets."

Adahni was about to protest that it was not his story to tweak or make a profit from, but then paused. She'd used real people in her own inventions so often. In her story, they had marched together against the Dragon at Mount Galardrym, and while Helvynn was gravely wounded, it was only when Khelgar offered to lay down his life to save hers that Chauntea had heard his prayer and healed her wounds. She imagined that bar patrons from Kuldahar to Athkatla and all the way up the Wash believed firmly that Khelgar Ironfist and Helvynn Hammerforge were alive and well and sitting on the granite thrones of their ancestors, hand in hand, while their children played around their feet. That Khelgar was not a crushed and crumbling skeleton beneath the Mere and Helvynn not ashes on the wind that blew across the moors around Crossroad Keep. She had rewritten the romance of Airon of Vania so that fair Vania committed suicide on Airon's graveside rather than marry the aged Collector (and then leave him to marry Casavir.) She'd told those stories so often that she almost believed sometimes that that was actually what happened. She'd sang the sad song that she had Vania sing on her dead lover's grave so many times that it had moved her to tears, forgetting that she had actually not liked the woman very much. It would be a bit hypocritical for her to be taken aback at this young Rashemi man doing the same to hers.

"Well I hope that the one in three women might take comfort in the fact that real Addie chose Bishop, and that no man like your fictional Casavir exists in this world or the next," she said, "He was a man, like any other. He was a good man, but he had his failings."

Niko nodded, "He's not a man, he's a character. To tell you the truth, I always found the character of Neeshka the Thief to be much more interesting than Adahni. But no, everyone wants to hear about the heroine without the tail."

"Neeshka is much more interesting than I," Adahni said, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she's gone straight. She's the Lady of Crossroad now."

Nikolai laughed and clapped his hands, "Of course!" he said, "A fitting end."

"So have you ever found yourself the subject of an epic tale?" Adahni said, "I have to say it's very strange, to having told them your whole adult life and suddenly, you're the one the bards sing of."

"I have not," Nikolai said, "And I should hope I never do. I prefer to keep my nose clean."

"You're lucky that that opportunity has been afforded to you," Adahni said. She glanced over at the stage, where the actors had broken character, and were standing around chatting. The one playing Casavir, in particular – his voice had risen half an octave and he was gesticulating wildly, describing the young man he had been seeing. She looked back at the director, remembering that there was no more truth to the story they told than the many she had, over the years, and nor was there supposed to be.

The troupe returned to its rehearsing, and Adahni to her ale. When she felt the need to stumble back to her bed, she channeled her old companion Neeshka. Strolling by the stage casually, she hooked her pinky around the hair of that wig that the actor portraying her had cast off, and snagged it. She continued walking, as though nothing were amiss, back to the room she was sharing with Safiya. Safiya had acquired a thick novel, and was curled up in bed, devouring it by candle light. She looked up sheepishly when she saw Adahni come in, evidently embarrassed to be caught in such a state. Adahni looked at the cover of the book, and saw with amusement that it was adorned with an entirely too-detailed portrait of a young woman swooning in the arms of a musclebound, long-haired, man.

"I never had the opportunity to read stories before," Safiya said, "It was always just magic texts, day in, day out, and when I was through studying for the day, I never wanted to read anymore, it just hurt my eyes."

"Don't be embarrassed on my account," Adahni said, "What the hells kind of stories do you think I tell? The only difference between you and my audiences is that you're literate."

Safiya chuckled, "Still," she said, "You'd think I ought to be reading the history of kings or some such shit."

"Perhaps," Adahni said, "Though I imagine that young lady about to get plowed on the cover of the book is much more realistic than history."

"Probably," the red wizard agreed, taking a look at the cover again, "It's a bit silly, of course, but it's a nice thing to think about. Some handsome devil on a fast horse coming to take you away."

"I think we've all had that thought at some time or another," Adahni agreed, "Like I said, people like listening to it, why wouldn't they want to read it?"

Safiya looked at the cover of her book again, "Do you think this was actually written by someone named Devera Swayne?"

"I bet she's trapped in a tower somewhere because she's too fat to make it down the stairs," Adahni said, "The more a writer lingers on how perfect her heroine is, the uglier she probably is."

"Never thought of that," Safiya said. She fingered her scalp.

"Oh!" Adahni exclaimed, suddenly remembering her successful pilfer, "I got you a present."

She took the wig out from behind her back, shook out the curls, and tossed it to the red wizard.

"It looks like a dead cat," Safiya said, examining it. She found the cap under the hair and stretched it over her bald head. She didn't have much experience arranging hair, evidently, but managed to sort it out eventually. She got up, putting her book down, and examined herself in the looking glass, "That's a strange sight to see," she said, "I don't really look like myself, do I?"

Adahni shrugged, "If you think your most salient feature is the top of your head, I suppose not. I think it looks decent. You will want to make sure it's better fastened before wearing it in any kind of battle."

The two women looked at their reflections side by side. "I look like _you_," Safiya said, chuckling, "Strange... we could be sisters."

Adahni, too, had noticed the resemblance, which was even more marked looking at the two faces side by side. It was a bit eerie, she thought, but certainly not entirely surprising. The two, after all, had similar complexions and features, the major difference being Adahni's nearly yellow eyes and Safiya's bald head. With the scalp hidden away, they really could have passed for some kind of relation. Adahni wondered, for a moment, whether this had something to do with all the strangeness that had occurred in her dream beneath the Moss-stone. The red woman, who was Safiya but not Safiya, was tangled in all of this. Perhaps she had been mistaken for someone, she thought.

Safiya took the wig off and placed it carefully on the dresser beneath the looking glass, "That was strange... it's odd to imagine what I would look like if I were a normal girl and not... me."

"You're you no matter what you put on your head," Adahni chided her, "You can't lose track of that."

"Well thanks, _mother_," the red wizard said sarcastically, but then slung an arm around the bard good-naturedly, "I appreciate the gesture. If I have a hankering to play a fine lady, that will serve me well. But, to be quite honest, I feel like the head scarfs are a much more reliable option."

"Suit yourself," Adahni said, "One of these days I'm going to doll you up in a fine gown and face paint."

"So I can look like a Luskan hooker?" Safiya shot back, "Not on your life."

"Watch yourself, you're getting mightily close to a line in the sand," Adahni said, but chuckled. There was a time when such an insult – even in the friendly ribbing way that Safiya intended it – would have been met with fists. That time was long in the past, and as the two women went about the business of sleeping, she felt at ease and oddly proud of herself that the flames of anger had not risen in her breast at the very mention of it. To this thought, she turned her head into the lumpy wool pillow, and closed her eyes.


	38. In Another Life

She was in Westharbor, sitting at the kitchen table of a house she didn't quite recognize. It had a large fireplace, much like the one at Daeghun's farmhouse. The hearth was cold, but she could see from the leaves outside and smell from the air that blew through the open door that it was summertime. The windows had beautiful curtains, embroidered with blue morning glories against a the white cloth. She stood, and went to the window. Outside, she saw a village reborn. It was not the Westharbor of her childhood, nor was it the Westharbor she had last seen, the houses burnt or abandoned, the air reeking of the demonic. What houses were left had been repaired, the ones that had been damaged had been torn down and replaced with new ones, built in the style of their predecessors.

She walked out the front door, the smell of the swamp at once fetid and comforting assailing her nostrils.

"Addie!" she heard a familiar voice, "Good, you're up from your nap!"

She turned to see Bevil Starling, her old friend, walking up the path to the house, a fishing pole over one shoulder and a bucket in his hand. If the sounds from the bucket were to be believed it was full of wriggling catfish from the river, just waiting to be killed, gutted, dredged in flour and fried in butter. Behind him trailed two... no... three little children. The eldest was Bevil's spit and image, probably six or seven years old, the next a year or two younger, and the smallest was toddling along behind, two fingers in her mouth.

_Is this a dream?_ She thought, _Or was before a dream?_

"Mama!" the littlest child piped up. She started running at the frenetic pace that little children could run at. Addie had always wondered how something that had just learned to use its legs could move so fast. The little girl ran, right past Addie, tripped, somersaulted in the damp grass, got right back up and ran past to the house behind her, where another familiar face was standing.

_Good gods, I've never seen Katriona in a dress before, _Addie thought, but there she was. Her blond hair was tied back in a kerchief, her burly blacksmith's arms covered by a yellow cotton dress. She picked the toddler up and swung her around, and then perched her on her shoulder.

"Don't worry Addie, yours are coming," Bevil said. He walked up to Katriona and planted a kiss firmly on her mouth. She smiled. Bevil was a good six and a half feet tall, and was probably the only man who could make Katriona, who stood at six feet herself, look small and dainty.

"Mine?" Addie asked, thoroughly confused.

"There they are!"

She followed Bevil's extended finger to where two more figures were coming over the rise. She could see from the silhouette who it wasn't, who she half hoped it would be, but she didn't realize who it was until he came close enough that she could see the bluish cast of his skin, the silver of his hair. She stared incredulously, and even more incredulously when she saw that the second figure, a little girl, black-haired and blue-skinned, maybe five years old, holding onto his hand.

"Mama!" the girl squealed, and let go of Gann's hand to fly into Adahni's arms. She instinctively put her arms around her so she didn't fall, and ran a hand through the girl's hair, finding it to be the same texture as her own. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but could only open and close it several times, much like the catfish in the bucket.

"Well hello my lemming," Gann said, as though it were the most natural thing in the world, "Our little Tasia caught a fish all by herself!"

"Gann... is this your doing?" she asked.

"What?" he asked, giving her a peck on the cheek, from which she had to try not to recoil. For all that this was a strange world she had woken up in, on the off chance that it was reality, she didn't want to disturb the little girl who was squirming happily in her arms, "The fish or the child? Though I suppose those two questions have the same..."

"Not in front of the children!" Katriona bellowed, "Come on now, inside, you all need to wash the swamp water off of your legs."

Adahni put down the girl, who scurried off after her companions.

"Gann," she whispered furiously, "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," the hagspawn said, smiling guilelessly, "This one is _your _dream, I'm just a tourist right now."

"And who was supposed to play the role of husband in this bucolic little fantasy?" she asked.

The hagspawn only smiled mysteriously, "Well come on then, the fish aren't going to gut themselves."

"I want to wake up," Adahni said, "This is making me extremely uncomfortable."

"Addie, relax," Gann said, "It's just a part of your brain you haven't explored. Come on, let's see what happens." He took her by the hand, intertwining his fingers with hers, and walked with her into the house that, she assumed, belonged to her. She did begin to relax, to breathe the air, scented with the swamp air that she had grown up inhaling. This was a vivid dream and realistic, totally unlike the frenetic and disjointed visions that had plagued her sleep of late.

She walked into the kitchen.

"Where do you keep your knives?" Katriona asked her.

"My... what?"

"Gods, Addie, I make you a perfectly good set of knives for a wedding present and you don't know where you've put them?"

"In the cupboard to your left," Adahni asked, "I'm sorry, I'm a bit... addled from sleep."

"Well no wonder, considering all you've been through," the other woman said, "I'm sorry, I forget sometimes." Katriona paused, "We've all been through so much. It's hard to let it go, you know? And it's like we've been here forever, like you have been here forever. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Adahni asked.

"It's been ten years today," Katriona said, "I know, nobody wanted to say anything to you, to remind you of all the... unpleasantness, especially since we've all seem to have settled into our lives. But I still dream of the orcs, Addie, and I can't imagine you aren't haunted as well."

"Ten years," Adahni said.

"Since you saved us all," Katriona said, "Yes, I know you hate hearing it like that, but it's what happened, and I'm not going to mince my words for your benefit. You're a grown woman, you can take it."

She looked at Katriona. Her blond hair had begun to go gray around the edges, and the lines at the edge if her eyes cut deeper. _Of course, _Adahni thought, _She's over forty, if it's been ten years. _

"And so much has changed. It's only been eight years since you came back, since you brought Gann with you. It's funny, how suspicious we all used to be of him."

"What do you mean?" Adahni asked.

"Well, you know..." Katriona said, "You weren't exactly known for your good taste in men. After your first marriage – yes, Bevil told me all about that – and your dalliance with the Betrayer of Crossroad. If that portal hadn't opened beneath the Mere and transported you to to Rask... Raskem... where is Gann from?"

"Rashemen," Adahni answered instinctively.

"Yes, there," Katriona said, "It's just hard to remember, seeing you, and your husband, and Tasia, all that time when we all thought you were dead. Though Bevil does say you have a penchant for disappearing for years at a time..."

Adahni nodded, numbly. Katriona had begun gutting fish with the same gusto she had previously reserved for gutting orcs. _Is this what we all turn into in our middle age? _Adahni thought. She went to a looking glass in the sitting room above the hearth. _Ten years, _she thought, _I'm thirty-five, at least. _She didn't _look _all that much older. Gann certainly didn't. _Then again_, she thought, _he's only twenty-nine._ _And a hagspawn. _She paused, _and apparently, my husband. _Part of her brain protested that Gann was not twenty-nine, Addie was only twenty-seven and Gann still barely a man... hagspawn.

_That means I never saw Bishop again._

Her blood ran cold. She screwed her eyes shut, tried to conjure him into existence, to replace Gann, to have a brown-haired, tawny-skinned girl instead of the bluish Tasia.

"What is it, my lemming, have you found another gray hair?"

It hadn't worked. The arms that twined around her were blue. But they were strong, and sure, and held her close like they meant it.

"What kind of dream is this?" she asked.

"It's a pleasant one," Gann replied, "Relax. You're trying to be awake, Adahni, and you are not. There are so many versions of yourself. This is a possible one."

"This isn't me," she said, "I can't have children. That girl... whoever she is... she isn't mine."

"She is yours," Gann said, spinning her around in his arms, "And so am I. At least in this dream. I'm beginning to regret showing you how to control your dreams, it's left you completely impervious to the real beauty of it." He took her face in his hand, one cool blue palm of each of her brown cheeks, and looked into her eyes, "All worlds are possible in here," he said, tapping the side of her head softly. He looked around him. The room was getting more detailed by the minute. The looking glass, which had only been a ragged hunk of mirror, was now framed in fine wood. She glanced at the hearth, and saw that it now had a fine oaken mantle, atop of which were minature oil paintings of herself, and of Gann, and of her father Daeghun.

"Daeghun!" she exclaimed. She spun. The room, which had been sparely decorated, was now furnished with a plain yet sturdy couch, and a set of arm chairs that she recognized from her childhood home. And, finally successful at conjuring, in one of them sat her father, smoking a pipe.

"Put that thing out, the children are going to be back any minute," she scolded automatically, not even realizing what she was saying until the words were already out of her mouth.

"Don't scold him like that," a sharp command came from the door. In the doorway stood her uncle Duncan, carrying a barrel of ale over one shoulder.

_Good gods, he's the same age as I am, _Adahni thought, _or he looks it. Damned elves. _

"It's not all that bad, my lemming," Gann said, "Look, it seems like you've dreamt us a party." Indeed, that did seem to be what Adahni's subconscious had had in mind, crisp catfish and cold corn cut from the cob and smothered with sour cream and spices and the entire barrel of Duncan's ale. By the time dream-Addie was sitting outside, smoking her own pipe, well out of the way of her sleeping daughter, she had forgotten entirely why she had felt so uncomfortable earlier in the day. She dumped the spent tobacco under the front stoop, popped some mint in her mouth to disguise her breath, and chewed it as she crept upstairs to her bedroom, where her husband was sitting, awake, in bed.

"See?" he said, "It's not such a bad life."

"Whatever are you talking about?" she asked.

She saw the ghost of a smile flicker across his face. She blew out the candle, and lay down next to him, putting an arm around him and kissing the back of his neck. There was something nagging at her, some niggling feeling that she was forgetting something important, but she put it from her mind.

"Gannayev!" the howl came from the corner of the room, just as Addie allowed her eyes to close, "How could you?!" The both of them sat bolt upright. In the corner of the room sat a strange woman, sobbing, her eyes red-rimmed. She was dressed like a Rashemi peasant, her dark hair tied up under a kerchief and her skirts billowing around her. Adahni instinctively reached for her blade. She didn't have one, of course, this Adahni was a good little Westharbor housewife. _Oh, of course, _she thought, with something like relief, _This was all a fucking dream. _

"Who is that yellow-eyed whore?" she demanded.

"Anya, what are you doing here?!" Gann exclaimed, getting out of bed.

"How did she get in?" Adahni asked, "Who is she?" _ All right, this has gone far enough, I think it's time to wake up now._

Gann walked up to the woman in the corner, and Adahni could see in the pale moonlight that he was entirely stark naked.

_Yes, definitely time to wake up now._

She woke up, gasping, the cold sweat trickling down her back. She took one deep breath, then another. She looked around. It was the same old run down room in the same old rundown inn in Mulsantir. No matter how pleasant the dream, she thought, she hated the feeling of losing herself.

A pounding came on the door. She got up to answer it, seeing that Safiya was entirely dead to the world. On the other side stood Gann, naked to the waist. She instinctively blushed and tried not to make eye contact. He seized her under the chin and forced her to look into his eyes, and then drew her to him, and leaned forward to kiss her.

"No," she said, looking away so that his lips only caught the corner of her mouth, "It was only a dream."

He released her face and backed up. When she dared to look him in the eye, to her relief, he was smiling with – was it relief? - and then looked a bit sheepish. "I'm sorry," he said, "It was... very vivid." They were silent a moment, then he chuckled, "It's a comfort to me that you still have that sort of peace within you. That one such as you, who has lived a life of such turmoil, could still imagine a future like that"

She nodded, "I suppose it is a comfort."

"It makes me believe that maybe even I could find such a peace," he said.

"I'm sure you could," she said.

"Perhaps more incredible is that somehow I have, somewhere deep within me, the capacity to be a one-woman man," he said.

"Must be very, very deep," she said, "Who was the girl in the corner?"

He chuckled again.

"Would you two shut the fuck up?!" Safiya mumbled from her bed.

"Come on," she said, "Go back to bed. And stay out of my dreams, please. I've had quite enough for one night."

He nodded, smiling with his mouth but not his eyes, and went back to his room.


	39. Graves

Crossroad Keep, Neverwinter Territory

Lady Neeshka Lainsford, Commander of Crossroad Keep, sat with her legs tucked up under her on the great oaken chair from which she held counsel. Little Addie was balanced on her arm, fast asleep, and she took great care not to awaken her. She was a robust baby, with lungs and vocal chords to match, but colicky, and getting her to be quiet for more than an hour was no small feat. And so, there she sat, the most powerful woman in Neverwinter, slave to a twelve-pound child, sitting in her uncomfortable throne while her legs fell asleep.

She nearly sprang three feet in the air as the heavy wooden door was thrown open with a "crack!" The baby awoke, blinking her yellow eyes several times before taking a deep breath and howling. Neeshka furiously tried to soothe her. Tiefling babies were often unpredictable. Khel, who was now going on two, sometimes had tantrums so violent they actually opened portals in the fabric between worlds, and the last time the cook had failed to give him the loaf of sugar he wanted, she wound up having to fight off several lesser demons with her rolling pin. She couldn't tell what Addie might do, but as each cry let loose the unmistakable odor of brimstone, she feared what might be to come. She glared up to see who had considered it appropriate to make such a noise.

"Sand, what in the hells do you want?" she all but shrieked, leaping to her feet and gently bouncing her daughter in her arms.

The moon elf looked down his nose at the squealing infant. He snapped his fingers and a transparent orb rose from his hands, sort of like an enormous soap bubble, and drifted towards them. Neeshka had learned that the enchanter, while easily annoyed, was harmless, and was downright relieved when the orb turned out to be some kind of sound barrier that enveloped the baby and left them in blissful silence.

"I know you've had quite a bit on your plate, what with all the... spawning," the elf said, "And the running of the castle and the rebuilding and all that nonsense..."

"The rebuilding of the castle and that nonsense affords you a home and a place to study," Neeshka said. She had been practicing pitching her voice lower, ever since Nasher had bestowed upon her the title of Captain and control of Crossroad Keep. Her natural voice tended towards the "shrill" or "piercing" and, as she had observed with her predecessor the Lady Adahni Farishta, a lower voice made for a more compelling command. She had also practiced using big words, just like Addie had. At first she felt silly, using turns of phrases like characters in classical novels did, but soon it came naturally to her, and she appreciated the respect given to her when she did so.

"I do not in any way intend to disparage such fine... ah... work," Sand said, hurriedly, suddenly reminded of the frequency with which either he or his associate, the mage Kailana Andarion, accidently blew a hole in the wall or let acid eat through the floor in a botched experiment, and also the speed with which the new Lady of Crossroad saw that they were patched up, "But, back to what I came here for... you, of course, remember your predecessor here?"

"I named my daughter after her," Neeshka said. The sensation of holding the infant's writhing body in her arms but with no sound rattling her eardrums was a strange one, but given the child's sheer lung capacity, not all bad.

"Well, then, you will remember that her body has not yet been recovered," Sand said.

"We were very deep under the Mere," Neeshka said, swallowing. The memory of that dreadful day, of the elation of their victory over the Guardian cut sickeningly short by the collapsing ruins, still woke her in her sleep and sent her into a panic which had her curled in a fetal position in the corner for an hour at a time. She held her daughter tight against her chest as though to guard against her heart, which had begun to beat double time.

"And the excavation has gone on for nearly two years," Sand said, "Under the guidance of myself and Kailana. Yes, yes, I know, we sold it to Nasher as an archaeological project, strictly to study the Illefarn and to figure out if anything they left behind might cause us such problems in the future," He sighed heavily, "But Lana did lose her son. And so she's thrown herself into it with a vigor I've never seen from her before. And, well... it's taken two years and some of the strongest magics we've managed to conjure, but we've gotten to the bottom."

"The bottom?" she asked.

"We found them," Sand said, "Mostly skeleton by now, of course, but... they were there. Elanee and Grobnar and Khelgar and Casavir and that gith whose name I could never pronounce. Qara too. Right... where we left them."

"And Adahni," Neeshka sighed, "Well, we all knew they were gone. I suppose we can give them proper funerals, as they were due. Bagpipes and all that."

"No," Sand said, "That is what I needed to tell you about. What is not news is the corpses we found. The news is whose corpses we did not find."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Adahni was not there. Grobnar, Zhjaeve, and Elanee fell in the main chamber. And Qara when Adahni ran a knife through her. Khelgar was under a bunch of rubble where he held up that pillar while we escaped. Adahni and Casavir were on our heels as we made our way out, and then we were separated by that cave-in."

"I remember," Neeshka said. Addie – Little Addie – Addie Lainsford - had stopped crying and fallen asleep on her shoulder, and she held her tight against her, worrying irrationally that her own dreadful memory would destroy her daughter's innocence, "I was there, remember?"

"Casavir was there, just where we left him," Sand said, "But only him. She was not there. There was, also a small chimney there, as though someone had dug down - or up."

"So she managed to crawl off somewhere else to die," Neeshka died. Hope kindled in her breast, but she dared not believe for a moment. It would just mean disappointment.

"We've been tearing that ruin to bits for two years," Sand said, "We would have found her, if she were there. Now, I can't make any promises, but I will tell you this... if she is dead, she did not die in the Guardian ruins. And, that's not all. You may have noticed that there are two other people we did not find there."

"Ammon Jerro," Neeshka said. She furrowed her brow and searched her memory. The adrenaline had been coursing through her veins, but as she tried to relive that awful day, she realized she could not remember where he had been as they made their escape, "He didn't even run with us, did he."

"He's a man with great knowledge of walking among the planes," Sand said, "I should not be surprised that he managed to wink out of existence. I don't suppose we'll be seeing him any time soon. But, there's one other."

"Bishop? Well we knew he might have escaped, he had a good long head start before the chambers began collapsing. That's why we've got that manhunt that has gone on since then," Neeshka said.

"Yes, the manhunt that you are supposed to be heading up, and which has come up with a fat lot of nothing in the time you've been in charge of it," Sand said, "Now, I'm not casting aspersions on your investigatory prowess, I know full well it could never hope to compare to my own. However..."

"What," Neeshka said, "I told you loud and clear how I feel about that!"

"It makes you look weak," Sand said, "News that the bodies have been recovered is going to hit the streets of Neverwinter like a ton of bricks and you, my dear Mrs. Lainsford, are going to be under intense scrutiny when people remember that little to no headway has been made to locate the traitor Bishop. Or... the Knight Captain Farishta, who may or may not be alive."

"I can't dare to hope," she said meekly.

"Well," Sand said, "You know that, and I know that, but what the common folk of the territory know is that if she is found, you are no longer the lady of this Keep."

"I could give two sticks about being lady of this Keep," Neeshka said, the indignation making her voice return to its customary pitch, "I didn't even _want _it. I only took it because _someone _had to do it. And I can't exactly go back to thieving with a husband and two kids who still crap their pants!" She looked down sheepishly, "Wait, this spell keeps her from hearing what I can say too, right?"

"She's too young to repeat you," Sand said.

"Khel's started cursing," Neeshka said, "He's barely two."

"Well we shouldn't _really _be surprised," Sand said. He walked up to her and motioned for her to hand the baby to him. He cradled the little tiefling, stunted horns and all, in his arms and studied her face with the tip of one long, narrow finger. The baby looked up at him, yellow eyes wide.

"Do you really think she's alive?" Neeshka asked.

"Well," Sand said, "I saw the tunnel myself. There have been cave-ins since, but... well... you know I have superior powers of extrapolation."

"You only talk about them every other day."

"Casavir died of his injuries. Broken ribs, fractured skull, big blow to the back of the head," he said, "As though he were face down when the rocks came down. What if he shielded her from the worst of it?"

"But they were so far underground..."

"And she was injured as well. Hells, the fight with the Guardian alone would have killed a lesser woman. There is no way she could have dug herself out."

"So somebody else..." Neeshka raised her eyebrows, the realization washing over her, "You think Bishop got out and went back for her. Why would he do that, after he betrayed us?"

"I think he loved her in his own way," Sand said, "And since you know how I feel about that particular emotion, you know that I do not say this lightly."

"I almost want to let them be," Neeshka said, "If they've managed this far. If they haven't both perished already."

"It would be nice to have a body to give to Nasher," Sand said, "Or some other proof that they've passed on to the next world. Whichever world that may be."

"They could be anywhere," Neeshka said, quickly qualifying it with, "If they're still alive."

"Well," Sand said, "I have to ask a favor, if you would like me to find out. Like I said, word of this will hit the masses of the Docks of Neverwinter eventually. they suffered sorely in the war, surely it will not be welcome news that the Betrayer may live. It would reflect poorly on all of us, and I know better than any the fickle charms of the public opinion."

Neeshka sighed, "I knew it. Always a favor with you."

"Turn the investigation over to me," he said, "And give me the resources I need."

"What's your plan?" Neeshka said, "You always have something up your sleeves."

"Well, we can rule out one possibility very easily. If they are dead, if they are no longer in this world, then they must be in the next. Adahni may be difficult to track down, I don't think any of us really knew what was in that head of hers. Bishop, however, made no bones about his refusal to follow a god."

Neeshka shivered. Sand handed the child, who had yawned and gone to sleep in his arms, back to her mother, "So you propose to seek him in the next world?"

"It's not outside of the realm of possiblity. If Kailana and I, with the help of Aldanon, could figure out to travel there, we could determine once and for all the fate of the Betrayer. It would be off your head."

"You're going to the Wall of the Faithless?"

"It would remove some doubt. Nip a few riots in the bud," Sand said, "And you know how Nasher hates riots. If I can show him with his own eyes that the Betrayer of Crossroad is now in the tender care of Kelemvor, it will put the matter to rest. It won't nip at your heels any longer. It's worth a try."

"Draw up the paperwork," Neeshka said, "You know I'm barely literate. I'll sign it."

"Thank you, my lady!" he said, clapping his narrow hands together, "Oh, this will be such a change from figuring out how to levitate those damned boulders."

* * *

><p>There was a grand processional from the Mere where they had fallen, up the winding road to Crossroad Keep. Neeshka headed it up with her husband Cormick, followed by her lieutenant Bevil Starling and his wife, who had been Adahni's sergeant, but who had left the military life to resume her peacetime trade blacksmithing. She never made swords anymore, though. Only horseshoes and plowshares. The pipes played lowly, the drums beat a slow but steady beat. The journey took most of a day at their solemn pace. Neeshka, knowing the corpses of her friends were being drawn by black horses behind her, long to hold her son to her breast, but the cold and damp of the Mere was no place for a small child, and so she settled for squeezing her husband's hand. Elanee would be brought to Mere she called home. Qara was brought to Neverwinter in a burlap sack and cast into the Tomb of the Betrayers, where a hole in the wall had been waiting for her. But for now, they would be escorted by their friends and enemies, from the Mere to Crossroad keep, and from there to their various resting places. Casavir's mother, Kailana, took his remains to Arvahn, and there laid him in the crypt, where a stone sarcophogus had been prepared for him years before. Grobnar and Khelgar they cremated and installed in slots in the wall besides the lovers who had predeceased them. Elanee was brought to the Mere she had called home and there left to the trees she had loved.<p>

Qara was carried in a burlap sack back to Neverwinter and dumped unceremoniously into the Tomb of the Betrayers. As Neeshka heard her two-year-dead bones crack dryly against the stone walls, she felt an air of finality. However, on her ride back to Neverwinter, she thought on what Sand had told her, and knew that something was just beginning.


End file.
